Kinetics
by Kyer
Summary: Sequel to A Batmobile By Any Other Name. Wally enlists Tim and Alfred's aid in a bid to earn Bruce's respect. Rated for sexual references; not a slash romance. 13 is short. Still, I hope it warrants at least one grin.
1. Art

A/N: Just a repost of chapter one. Amethyst, you can ignore this.

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**Chapter 1: Kinetic Art**

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Kinetic Art: noun  
_a form of art that depends on movement for its effect. The term was coined by artists Naum Gabo (1890–1977) and his brother Antoine Pevsner (1886–1962) in 1920 and is associated with the mobiles of artist Alexander Calder._

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Darkness swathed the cavernous area save for a hidden corner where a lone sentient stood next to a work table. Most of the facial features was obscured by large safety goggles; the slim frame partially hidden as well by a leather garment that was liberally marked with arcane designs of mysterious origin. The humanoid carefully took another handful of the once sacred objects from the pile that had been set aside. (The handful was manipulated until their molecules were just touching the point of chaotic instability. This rendered them temporarily malleable for the project, but the method required some fast action before the vibrations dissipated or the result would fall apart once more and the plan avail him nothing. Not a problem if you were the Maestro of Mayhem. The Sultan of Scheming. The King of The Kinetic.)

Additional metal bits were quickly slapped into place, adding onto those already a part of his expanding masterpiece.   The first step accomplished, the figure then tentatively chose a relatively unscathed ring from the pile---and after a bit of spit and polish---judged it of acceptable quality.

_Yesssss..... Perfect for the final act of sealing together...the dead._

_His work was almost done. Once completed it would capture the soul of it's target and render the victim...amiable to his whims.  
_

Concentrating on the mystical power that imbued him, the goggled man held it before his eyes as lightning leaped from his fingertips, sending the energy dancing over the vital element. Barely tamed kinetic power moved over his whole frame. The mysterious artisan grinned like a shark under his hooded eyes; now starting the ancient chant that after much deliberation he'd deemed the most germane for this auspicious moment. It left his lips...first low and solemn, then with increasing fervor:

_"One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all...and in...the Dark Batz---__bind them__!"_

With a melodramatic flourish, the rubber gasket ring was torn to shreds. Heat friction melted the pieces into the largest gaps between the various metals in order to adhere them together. Lightning darted around the entire finished product...then subsided to reveal--

The figure stepped back from the workshop table and raised two fists in triumph, his fiery hair still crackling with the remnants of Speed Force static as he let his head fall back to proclaim:

"It's alive! It's alive! IT'S _ALIVE!_ MWAHAHAHAHAAA!"

"Is somebody down there?"

Drat! A quick grab and the results of all his labor went underneath a rather cool concealing tarp Wally had found stored on a rack in a glass case_. _The goggles ended up somewhere in the recesses of the cave. Evidence of foul play hidden away, he then waited with bated breath as a caped silhouette stepped into the light.

"Oh, it's just you then," spoke the shadowed new arrival. "Hey, Wally, Bruce and Alfred didn't tell me you were still allowed in here to work." A bored Timothy Drake--the latest in Batman's successive collection of Boy Wonders--slipped over to the table and made himself comfortable on the vacant workshop stool. He was in civilian wear--as the older hero was as well, yet of much better quality--but had a blanket draped around his shoulders and a snack in his hand. Tim gestured at his sometimes partner in crime's molten rubber and oil stained leather work apron with his partially eaten roll of fruit wrap. "I thought that after the Green Hornet caper you'd be spending the holidays in...I don't know...Atlantis or someplace else harder for Bruce to infiltrate."

"Yo, Tiny Tim," a patently relieved Wally attacked Robin's scalp with a noogie, grinning playfully at the shorter-than-average youth's scowl when the boy realized the speedster now had possession of his treat. "Never wave food at a speedster unless you're offering."

Tim huffed both at his friend's annoying nickname for him and at his penchant for stealing any food not already being digested. "I'll bear that in mind next time." His half-hearted grab for the fruit roll was--as expected--easily evaded.

"About time my ageless wisdom started _bearing fruit_ from the Bat Clan," Wally chuckled as he downed the whole roll. "Darn good fruit too. What's on your mind, Short Stuff? Besides that Santa is likely to skip your house with that new video game he got you on account it's also harboring The Gotham Grinch and not even a plate of chocolate chip macaroons and a glass of iced mocha will entice the Jolly Elf down the chimney...any of the chimneys. Of course, I'd do the job for him as his deputized helper...assuming there _was_ to be said such goodies left for Santa on the Chippendale breakfast table?" He waggled an eyebrow suggestively.

Tim rolled his eyes at Wally's idea of wit. "Nothing much. Bruce has grounded me until I start acting like a responsible adult---or he says _you do_---whichever comes first. As I'm now nearly twelve and a half, that translates to my being grounded for nearly another four years." He sighed. Four years was a sight better than waiting for Wally to grow up, but it was still...it was _four years._ The older hero frowned at the surrounding darkness as Tim peered at the items sitting on the table and the Bat-cape covered lump next to it. "What are you still doing with those parts and should I be worried?"

"Nothing heinous. What's with the fluffy security cape?" Tim pursed his lips a bit. He was used to Wally's teasing, but sometimes it got a bit tiresome.

"Unlike you, I'm not a walking space heater," he pointed out. "When I heard strange noises and decided to investigate, I also determined I didn't want to freeze to death so I grabbed this blanket." Tim pointed at the cape on the table. "Speaking of capes, isn't that one of Batman's spare ones that he keeps in a hermetical sealed storage container?

"Noooo."

"It is," Tim grinned wickedly. "You're up to something. Tell me what it is or..." he left the threat hanging. The thing about shared culpability in criminal activity of a prank nature was that each had considerable dirt on the other. Tim waited expectantly, knowing that The Flash would eventually spill. The man just couldn't keep a non-classified secret--especially if he thought it was a particularly good one to share around.

Wally glanced to and fro like an elder sibling about to reveal the ultimate truth to his younger brother about why Superman wore his underwear on the outside and The Martian thought suspenders looked cool. "Well, seeing as I owe you one..."

"_Five_ at last count." the Boy Wonder corrected.

"In your _dreams_, Timmy Tyke," Wally's mock snit was ruined by his wide grin. He yanked off the cape and proudly gestured at his very first attempt at the _Beaux-arts._ "Behold---feast your naive eyes on _THE_ Christmas present for the Batz Who Has Everything!"

Tim stared at the mass of metal for a moment; slowly walking around it and considering the relatively smooth surface on one side versus the textured one of bolts and screws that adorned the other flank. He studied it from as many different angles as possible. The whole thing appeared to be keeping it's shape via some soft rubbery material. Finally he looked up with an expression of extreme confusion. Wally was smiling, waiting for the praise.

"You're giving Bruce a bust of Two Face made from the old Batmobile?"

Wally was a bit taken aback by Robin's inability to _clearly see_ the resemblance of his sculpture to...to...

The fastest Founder blinked at his handiwork with a bit more of a jaundiced eye than he had at it's creation. _Two Face menacingly grimaced back._

"Uh, not---_really finished yet."_ He quickly vibrated more handfuls of metal screws and slapped them on in quick succession; melted another piece of rubber.   If anything Tim's facial contortions betrayed even more bafflement as the bust seemed to instantly change to...

"A Picasso rendition of The Joker?" he asked, sounding doubtful.

The speedster bit his lip at the boy's rather valid guess. Unfortunately...

"Um...No. Hold on a sec." _Okay, so great works of art take time even for The Flash. Bet David took old Michelangelo a whole day to perfect!_

Tim watched as more blurred activity sent the smaller pile of metal further decreased in size while the head sculpture grew. Again, Wally stepped away from the table.

"Alfred never really got into teaching me about the industrial arts, but I suppose the door handle _sort_ of looks like The Penguin's beak...I guess." Batman's sidekick shrugged noncommittally.

"_Eh..nooo._" Wally took a deep, calming breath and plunged in again. More friction welding at high speeds by The Fastest Sculptor Alive. "There!"

"Manbat?"

_The artist took a half second to ponder if that would be...close enough? No. Nonono--definitely not! Blurred motions of arms on the fly as he went back to work with somewhat less bravado then he'd held before.. "A-a-and now?"_

"Killer Croc?" Tim conjectured. "Wearing the Bat hood ornament as a nose ring?"

"Crap!" _Metal_ was yet again rearranged and displayed for review. _He was going to get it right this time or--!_

"Wally, I think Bats is more likely to be a Harley _Motorcycle_ enthusiast than a _Quinn_ fan. Her hat sure looks lifelike though," Tim offered in way of consolation when he noticed the rapid eye tick The Flash had developed.

_"ARGH!" Wally's scream of sheer frustration made Tim wonder if he should call Alfred down with the tranquilizer gun. Sudden induced sleep always seemed to work for the few times when Bruce finally blew a fuse after one of Wally's foibles drove him over the edge._

In a maniacal fury, the would-be Michelangelo used up the last of the remaining car parts then stepped away, panting heavily from his exertion.

Both Wally and Tim stared in mutual horror at the resulting bust the speedster's hands had wrought by sheer, diabolical, mischance:

_The Batmite._

"Um...Wally, is this _supposed_ to be some sort of demonic gag gift?" a hesitant Tim waveringly asked as he indicated this latest object of _Flash Art de Monstruosité_. "Because you know how Bruce feels about _those_ kinds of presents that could potentially summon Ra Ghul."

With a dull look of defeat in his eye, the red head stretched out his vibrating arm and grasped the grinning grotesque he'd created. It collapsed back into it's heap of individual Busted Batmobile bits. His evil creation finally destroyed, _Dr. Wallystein_ did his own bit of collapsing against the table's edge and considered that _maybe_ an aptitude for the auto mechanical arts did not necessarily translate into a proficiency in the fine art of Christmas gift crafting.

"I thought I could at least do a nice bust for him."

Tim kept a wary eye on the heap of battered parts and melted rubber as if the lot might spring to malicious life again at any second and necessitate an emergency call to either Raven or Doctor Fate for an exorcism. He patted Wally on the back. "Well, on the bright side, that certainly _was_ one hell of a _bust_. Anyway, at least it wasn't as bad as last year's gift. As I remember it, the 'dribble' from that glass you gave him shorted out his utility belt---locking him in it. You should have seen the size of the camouflaging cummerbund CEO Bruce Wayne had to wear with his tux to a board meeting that morning. Some drunk on the street even asked if he was pregnant."

After a moment, Wally could no longer hold back his amusement at that tale and laughed. He offered Tim a haughty imitation of the Wayne butler. " "I'll have you know that particular dribble glass was a _one-of-the-kind_ commissioned piece."

His friend looked skeptical--always a safe stance to take where The Flash was concerned. "Who in the world would commission a single dribble glass made of cheap acrylic with a stem shaped like the internet's dancing banana?"

Wally shrugged. "Plastic Man for B'wanna Beast's birthday. Pity he's lousy at winning bets on video games with The Fastest Mario Kart Driver Alive." He looked speculative. "You know, I think I still have a set of those beauties somewhere...or did I already give them to Luthor's Presidential campaign secretary?"

"Um..." Tim scratched his head at the conundrum of this. "If it was a _one-of-a-kind_, how can you have a _set_ of them?"

"Pint-Sized, don't go asking me about my sordid past dealings when it's my _future_ that's looking dismal and depressingly shorter than you are."

If Tim didn't know that slurs like that were the speedster's way of showing honorary-familial affection, he'd have bopped him one. Instead he just asked, "Huh?"

With a whimpering moan, Wally perched himself onto the table and buried his face in his hands, "I'm a bit busy here having a pre-Christmas-no-gift-for-Batz-angst-filled panic attack."

Drake waited while Wally vibrated hard enough to nearly knock all the metal junk off the table. After a few moments of listening to rhythmic thuds, the speedster looked over to see that his friend was still staring at him with an air of tolerance even as the boy's feet abused the workshop chair. "Tim don't you have something better to do than goggle at the miserable Savior Of The Slow?"

"Not particularly," Tim continued to absently kick his feet against the legs of the stool. "If you can recall our conversation of...oh...ten minutes ago? What with the Black Beauty gag, I've been banned from the manor's entertainment center until even the state government acknowledges I'm old enough to drive my Robin Cycle without training wheels. Bruce said something to me about _'the less you know about pop culture, the less Wally can poison your mind with daft ideas.' _So..." he crossed his arms "why don't you just buy him something?"

Wally glowered at him. "Because _some_ of us have superior metabolisms."

"You mean The Speedster's Curse." Tim smirked knowingly. "Since you're reduced to nabbing my fruit roll and vying to gain Santa's bribes, I'd guess you're broke again."

"Right down to the wooden nickels and one Justice League Monopoly playing piece," a truly morose Wally agreed.

"Hey, maybe you can sell that?"

"I tried. It's of The Creeper and he already has a closet full of them."

"Ah."

The two sat in silence, trying to think of ideas.

"What about doing a painting? Something abstract should work even if you have no talent. Alfred says even a chimpanzee can pull off a decent abstract."

"I already tried that," Wally muttered. "The oil-based paints reacted to the extreme friction of my brush technique....and...well, it all got kind of colorful to say the least." _And that didn't count the apartment manager's swear words._

Tim whistled. "Wow. Abstract wall art?"

"Oh yeah. Landlord kicked me out until I repaint everything. Which I can't..."

"Because you're broke," Tim finished.

"And the Batman detective legacy lives on."

"Well, if you don't have any dough and you suck at home-made crafts...guess Bruce just lucks out this year."

The depressed Flash suddenly straightened and snapped his fingers. "Tiny Tim...you are a genius."

Tim went still. "I think that is one of your phrases which Bruce told me to beware of."

The Flash ignored him. "I can't _buy_ him anything and I can't sculpt worth a darn," Wally breathed out, "but I can still _bake_ him a present!"

"But..." Tim felt duty bound to point out .."didn't Alfred ban _you _from the kitchen because of that time he asked you to bring him some baker's chocolate squares from Germany and you brought back--?"

Wally bridled at the reminder. Why did the Bat Clan have to be graced with such long memories anyway? That had been a whole _year_ ago! "_T'wasn't_ my fault. I ran into Mirror Master before I even made it to the Atlantic seaboard. By the time I escaped from his whacked-out dimension trap made of Christmas tinsel, I only had enough time to zip into a nearby German import store in New York. The sign above the product sounded like some fancy German brand name and--_how was I to know what _Abführmittel_ meant?_ It was a pure accident."

"They certainly were _that_---only I wouldn't classify them as pure." Tim wrinkled his nose at the memory."That's why I stick to fruit wraps from now on--it's safer. Believe me, Bruce wouldn't touch something you baked with anything less than safety tongs and anti-venom on hand before he dropped it in the incinerator. Forget it. Anyway, you'd probably have to borrow from Bruce's own larder in order to try to poison him."

Wally really hated logical thinking.

"So...no baking, creating, or credit debt making..." The Flash slumped back on the table. "Any brilliant ideas, Boy Wonder?"

"I'm still trying to figure out _why_ you want to give Bruce a Christmas present in the first place," Tim admitted. "It's not like he's going to be expecting a box under the tree adorned with a little _'From: The Flash'_ tag. If he did find one, he'd probably take safety measures and deploy the Bat Bomb De-activator before touching so much as the bow."

"Some Boy _Wonder_ you've turned out to be. I only need _one_ workable idea."

"Hey, not my fault he hates you." Tim saw Wally's green eyes grow larger and more wet looking as he started fiddling with his fingers. "Wally?" The off-duty Flash ducked his head. Tim could swear he heard blippy noises which told him Wally was trying to hold back sobs. "Oh my god--that's it, isn't it? You _want_ him to like you? Or at least not despise you so much?"

Wally grumbled over his thickening voice. "Does he _really_ hate me?"

Tim could have kicked himself rather than the chair leg. "Well, _hate_ is kind of a strong word..." he hedged.

"Yeah, and Batz is kind of a strong guy..." the despondent older man sniffled.

Wally had Tim there. "Um...well, then I seriously doubt that a simple doohickey of any price tag is going to win him over. I mean...not like he can't buy it for himself anyway. Now you can save up for latex interior wall paint instead?"

The speedster slumped even further, deeply burying his fingers between strands of ginger hair. "There must be _something_ I can do to get him to notice me."

"Oh, trust me that he notices you right away." Tim had the grace not to add _'you can tell by the way his scowl intensifies whenever you show up'_. "Hard not to what with all that red. As The Flash you are your own alert signal flashing _'Here I am! _You're all pop culture, laughing, and looking for the spotlight'_; _and you gotta admit that Bruce is kind of more into high class, dignity, and blending into the background. Now if you could somehow learn to be like that, he might swallow your sticking around long enough to say hello. But you'd need some sort of serious mentoring..."

Both males slowly looked at each other.

"Alfred!"

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**A/N:** This started as a simple one-chapter holiday fic...but wants to continue. I may regret giving in to it, but for now...we'll see where the muse ends up, shall we?

Oh...I don't own DC or any obvious movie or book parodies you read here. Not for profit time wasting only. Disrespect intended, but of the tongue-in-cheek variety.


	2. Theory

**A/N:** Kudos to Amethyst Asheryn who not only reviews practically every Flash story I've written, but always tries to add some sort of commentary or at least beta corrections.

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Kinetic Theory: noun (_Physics): the body of theory that explains the physical properties of matter in terms of the motions of its constituent particles.  
_

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Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth ran his keen eyes down the length of Wally's lithe form as he slowly walked around the jittery man. (Note that in the eyes of the viewed it wasn't just _a normal perambulatory stroll _either_,_ but a painstakingly-_ohmygodI'mgoingtodieofoldagehere-_-normal human type of _plodding along _kind of walk.) His manner was not unlike that with which Tim had earlier studied Wally's failed sculpture attempt. That being so, Wally had the feeling that the butler was housing similar less-than-charitable thoughts and had to continuously stifle his instinctive reaction to bolt before his dignity got totally shredded. Really, this was probably not one of his better ideas. Or was it Tim's idea? It had to have been Tim's. Yep, better all-around to accuse the kid especially since Tim had no clue Wally was going to blame him. Easier that way.

Still...

_What had I been thinking-accepting social relationships advice from a twelve year old kid?_

Maybe he could still find one of those dribble glasses so that Bruce could have a matching pair to remind him why he avoided metas who had failed college courses and thus wore flashy red outfits as compensation for the fact that they had the will power of a sugar addict in a candy store?

"So, can you _fix_ him?" Tim asked, pointing at his fidgeting companion. "Some sort of a selective surgical removal of what makes him so hyperactive?"

_Yeah...fix me, Jeeves. Wait...what the fu-?_

"Uh...Robin?" Green eyes glanced warily at Tim, trying to judge if the boy was truly naive about how that sentence's phrasing had sounded. Wally could have sworn the juvenile delinquent was masking a smirk. Drake was a true Bat Kid though. It was hard to tell when they were just joking or plotting bloody retribution on the sly. Dick had once-

"If not _I_ to successfully perform a Pygmalion operation on Master Wallace, then _who_ would you suggest for such a drastic procedure, Young Master Timothy, as I am unaware of any person named Professor Henry Higgins currently in residence within Gotham?"

Wally immediately locked eyes on the butler as he broke out in a sweat upon hearing the words _operation _and_ drastic procedure_. _There was no call to go chipping at the famous Flash physique profile, no sir! Why, think of the Twin Cities costs alone if they had to change all those statues and posters and..._

_That couldn't be good for the city coffers during these hard times._

_No._

_Not to mention he already hated those-rare! Very rare!-events when he screamed like a girl. It was hard to keep up a good superhero image when you were caught off-I mean totally off kind of off-guard and screamed like a girl._

_Unless you were a girl and were named Black Canary; but even then her scream wasn't exactly a feminine soprano seeing as it fell more into the musical range of bass (with an extra 'ad' after the 'b' for spice.)_

_Not that he'd say so to her face since Ollie was another one of those billionaire types who had plenty of money to back up his bouts of jealousy-inspired creativity._

_Although he would hardly have to worry about Wally making a move on anyone's girlfriend if this Doctor Higgins (professor, doctor...did semantics really matter?) got his knives on Wally's running mate.  
_

"Uh, guys? I was thinking in terms of a _personality_ retcon only," Wally clarified, hands held protectively over his south-of-center region. "I kind of like all my other action accessories kept in the original packaging?"

Alfred raised a brow at Wally's worried mien. "Never fear, Master Wallace. I was taking brainless incompetents and transforming them into functioning menservants years before you were born." The butler looked an embarrassed Wally straight in the eye, making the man perspire even more than he was already. "Are you sure you wish to give yourself over to me, young sir? You will find that I am _not_ an easy task master nor will your transformation be..quick."

Like _that_ was in doubt, thought Wally-who was belatedly realizing that anyone who had raised Bruce Wayne from a diapered tot to _The Goddamned Batman_ had to be one of the most hardened men outside of a maximum security prison-and that man was _not smiling_; no, not at all. Wally was really inclined to run like hell for high water and hide under the covers-heck-the mattress_...Superman's mattress...at the Frozen Fortress of Solitaire (or some such name that bespoke of utter boredom)_, but would that just tick off The Goddamned BatButler even more?

Probably.

Maybe if he went to visit (a.k.a hide out) with Jay for the next decade? No. Garrick's wife probably wouldn't like that seeing as he'd emptied out their fridge the last time he visited and that had only been for five minutes. Besides, there was Bat Tech to consider. Bat Tech was _everywhere_. He bet even Jay's helmet had been bugged with Bat Tech even though the man probably wore that thing in the shower since Wally had never seen the elder Flash without it-well, that was exaggerating, but where the heck Jay even stored it when he wasn't dressed as The Flash since it couldn't very well fit in his pant's pocket-

Pant's pocket.

Fix.

An increasingly unnerved speedster realized that two people were expecting a reply from him. He exchanged glances with Tim before warbling. "Just tell it to me straight...is the oper-_procedure_ non-reversible and is it going to _hurt_?"

"Undoubtedly," Alfred allowed himself a tiny smirk. (He knew full well what the Justice League Founder was thinking and delaying the specifics like this had been a sweet bit of revenge-childish as that was-for all the pranks the meta had entangled the men under his care into either as co-conspirators or as victims.) "Since time is short, I will have to resort to _negative_ as well as positive reinforcements and being as you have exhibited a tendency towards thickheaded behavior in the recent past...some pain is inevitable. However, to put your mind at ease before you pass out on my newly waxed floor...your various natural accessories shall remain intact." He leaned in a little with just the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "Pygmalion is a _theatrical_ play, Master Wallace-not a procedure inflicted on the male anatomy."

Feeling relieved by the clarification-yet humiliated by his needing one in the first place, Wally removed the hands protecting his groin region only to start playing with his fingers. The butler's candid assessment of his less-than-stellar qualities really stung, but if he was going to prove to Bruce he _could_ be a responsible adult?

_No pain no gain. _They used to say.

Sometimes Wally wondered if _they_ had been closet masochists.

.

Pennyworth considered his options to the ridiculous proposal Dick's and Tim's friend had come to him with.

At first he had thought it yet another of West's ideas to amuse himself by eating up excess time. However, even though the man had shown signs of true distress at being on the receiving end of bodily harm...he had not _hit the highway_ as it were. It would seem the unique proposal for a gift to Bruce was genuine after all.

Which rather complicated matters.

Alfred knew that The Flash meant well enough by offering to indenture himself to the Wayne household. However, it was highly unlikely Bruce would acknowledge such a selfless act for his personal benefit. The young man's gift would be rejected out of hand regardless of Master Wally's feelings; the whole endeavor would end up being a waste of time for all and potentially damaging to the boy's self esteem.

He was inclined to respectfully decline any involvement.

Yet the fact remained that this had not been the first _special_ request put to him today...and there were his own feelings on the matter.

Alfred felt his heart melt at the sad sight before him: a renowned hero who looked half starved and dressed like a pauper because he was too proud to ask for help and none of his fellow crime fighters in the high and mighty Watchtower saw beyond the cheery and clownish attitude enough to notice the man's fiscal distress? What was the world coming to? Indeed, when the opportunity arose, he would be giving Master Bruce a few choice words on his lack of perception in the case of his coworker's need.

However, maybe he was judging his charge too harshly? It could be that Bruce _had_ already noted the problem yet also knew that Mr. West would not voluntarily accept anything that he saw as charity.

Well! If Master Wallace wished to be helped in this odd endeavor, then Alfred would help him indeed...but in much more practical matters than the speedster supposed. Matters like getting enough food, having proper clothing that allowed for spending more time out of The Flash uniform (the butler suspected that the reason Wallace was nearly always dressed as his superhero self was because the red suit was more durable than his civilian clothing), and basically learning to take better care of himself.

.

"Master Wallace...I did not say it would be _impossible_. Merely...difficult."

Lured in by the sincere concern he saw in Pennyworth's eyes, Wally found himself nodding in agreement. "Yeah...okay, I agree to your being in charge over me-_yeow!"_ A microsecond later he was gripping his smarting knuckles and staring accusingly at the butler, "Jeez, Jeeves, that _hurt_!" He quickly backed up a half step. All trace of sympathy from Pennyworth had vanished without a trace. His eyes had gone all steely in a manner that a younger Bruce had probably copied for his own Bat glare.

"Lesson number one, Mister West: a sophisticated man of employ to the upper classes does not show signs of agitation either by voice or by activity. _He especially does not toy with his fingers as if they were tiddlywinks. _Are you positive you wish to proceed to the second lesson? You may still back out without my thinking less of you."

_An escape hole! He could take it without-_

An image of Batman looking down his nose and huffing in unsurprised disappointment floated before his eyes, silently accusing: _I knew you didn't have the guts to go through with it. Useless, spineless wimp._

Wally straightened up at the imaginary challenge, determinedly ignoring his still stinging fingers. He was The Flash, damn it! He'd stood up against dangerous criminals since his pre-teen years. Backing down from this was out of the question.

"Be as cool as Captain Cold's cucumber. Got it." He winced at a sharp poke to his diaphragm.

"Very good. Lesson number two is to discontinue the colorful colloquialisms in favor of utilizing the language properly." The speedster started to open his mouth, but thought better of it and clamped it shut. He earned a faint smile of approval in return. "It seems you can be taught," a droll Pennyworth observed. "Well, then, from now until you leave this household or quit?"-here Wally grimaced, but said nothing-"you shall refer to me as _Master Pennyworth_ and I to you as _Mister West_..or Mister _Wallace _West if I am particularly displeased with your attempts." He glanced again at Wally's ragged set of well used blue-collar attire that was of such quality that even the seediest of thrift stores would reject them. "Since clothes can define the man, a complete change in wardrobe is definitely in order. By the time I'm done, Master Bruce himself will not recognize you." He hesitated and considered that. "At least not as _the profoundly immature Wally_ West."He motioned for his new student to follow him. "Come along then, _my aspiring Eliza Doolittle_, our first act shall be getting you presentable. You will avail yourself of a hot bath while I find you a change of clothing. I believe something of Master Dick's might suffice for your particular build."

"Um..clothing?" Wally faltered, looking down at the things he'd salvaged from a garbage can month's ago. "About that, I can't pay for anything just now-not that I don't have money, but it's all kind of tied up-" _by the banks which won't let me borrow some._

"As an apprentice, you will earn a weekly stipend for your basic needs. Room and board will be provided. Your initial uniform will be on loan. However, if you ruin it, the cost will come out of your stipend."

"Oh...you mean like earning a paycheck? Sounds fine and dandy to me, Fred." Wally smiled at the thought of having something besides lint in his jean pockets, then suddenly balked. "I thought you said my manhood was safe?" The question as quickly followed by a put-out exclamation of, "Hey! I'll have you know I do _quite a lot of stuff!"_

"Unfortunately, we are all well aware of _that, Mister Wallace._" Alfred slapped him on the back of the head. "Also, seeing as there is no _Fred_ in this household. _Who_ were you addressing?"

"Uh...my speedster friend? He moves so fast you must have not seen..." Wally's face collapsed into a contrite attitude upon seeing Alfred's scowl grow darker. "Sorry, _Master Pennyworth."_

_"Correct, Mister West. _Now proceed down the hall to the fourth door on the left where you will avail yourself of the facilities. I expect you to take your time in the bath...if you do not, I will have to check behind your ears to see how well you did your first task-and surely you don't wish to be treated like an irresponsible child anymore than strictly necessary?"

"Uh fourth door..left...long hot bath-clean behind ears," Wally nodded. "Take my time. No problem." He zoomed down the hall. "Wow! This is the most complete collection I've ever seen! There's even a Justice League set!"

_Dear lord no!_ "That's the right-side door, Mister West! I clearly stated for you to take the left-"

A chorus of different squeaks and then some vaguely recognizable impersonations were heard interspersed with the sounds of splashing water:

.

_"BatzDucky, *quack* I'm going to turn you into Duck Soup! But before I do that, I'm going to put a permanent molded smile on your face! Take that! Mwahaahaa! *quack*"_

_"Someone's in a *quack* fowl mood, huh, JokerDucky? And why do you sound like PenguinDucky? *quack* Scratch that-why do __I *quack* sound like *quack* PenguinDucky?"_

_"Mwahahahha! That's because my patented Rubber Ducky Gas __*quack*has turned everyone into bath time fun!"_

_*quack* Egads! I have a __*quack* in my throat! How will I sound scary during __*quack* Justice League meetings like this? Boy Wonder! *quack* Help!"_

_"Actually, its the Duckling Wonder now. *quack* But I did manage to *quack* get in touch with someone at The Watchnest."  
_

_"Don't worry, BatzDucky. *quack* I'm sending SuperDucky, WonderDucky, HawkDucky, MartianDucky, and The Green Lantern Ducky to fly over and rescue you."_

_"It's The __*quack* Justice Flock! Ain't I the Lucky Duck? But why aren't you also coming, FlashDucky?"_

_"Because *quack* I'm stuck at the Monitor Pond *quack* taking a bath per Alfred. *quack quack*."_

.

Alfred muttered under his breath as he passed by Tim. "I'm going to regret this until my dying day."

Tim shrugged as he fell in behind. "I guess I should have warned you about his puppy dog look, huh?"

(Alfred did not think Tim appeared sorry at all and considered that the current Robin The Boy Wonder understood more about the Flash than anyone save perhaps for Master Richard.)

"An update on his loss of sanity would have been _most_ timely, Master Tim. You realize that Master Bruce will kill us regardless of the reasons for doing this? Even without Mr. West's having discovered his bath toy mementos from that Toy Man caper?"

That thought gave Tim pause. He quickly rallied with "But on the bright side-think of the amount of good karma you'll have amassed from this alone. You could be reincarnated as a super villain and still come out ahead."

"I'll settle for not having to explain all of this to Master Bruce when we get caught."

"_If _we get caught," Tim corrected. "You are the only one I know who can successfully pull something past The Batman."

"True. However, I never tried to pull anything while hamstrung with Master Wallace's participation before."

"Good thing I'm just the innocent kid in this then," Tim grinned.

_Innocent my eye. _"Imp."

They both paused to listen to their new employee continue his bath time fun.

.

_"SuperDucky flies above people. BatzDucky hides from them. WonderDucky preaches to them. Me? I waddle alongside them. My name is Wally Webfeet and I'm the Fastest Rubber Ducky Alive! *quack*"_

.

"We're doomed, aren't we?"

"Utterly."

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** If there isn't an Earth dimension made of sentient Rubber Ducks...there darn well ought to be._  
_


	3. Kinetic Energy

A/N: Actually, this is in regards to a previous story (Chemistry) in which I proposed that Wally held a secret desire to be a cowboy. So here I sit reading the comic book Impulse #22, page 22 and... _A disguised Wally revealing himself: "Thanks for the Stetson, Jay. Linda won't let me buy my own." _I am so tickled pink that I knew Wally better than I ever thought I did--even at a time I hadn't read any of his comics.

I wrote the above before I was originally going to post this. If only the rest of my life of late had been so good.

_**FFN USERS! PLAGIARISM ALERT!**_

**In lesser good news...there is a scumbag stealing people's work from FFN and and posting it at a hard core porn site. I suggest that everyone use a search engine to check their stories now and again...title...preferably a unique sentence or three. With a porn site, I'm thinking the owners are just as morally deprived as the thief, so don't go giving them an email you don't want compromised. If you are familiar enough with websites...try finding out who the service provider of the website itself is. Maybe they can shut down the whole site if they won't put remove your work.** I think Windows users have something called Whois...a program that tells where a site originates? Maybe that would be an avenue for some.

Know that I would never okay any of my stories being placed in an tripe-X rated site. I despise PWP (sex without a plot) and even more so graphic anatomy pictures that would make Michelangelo puke. They aren't telling a story...they're capitulating to hormones and taking the easy route straight to the gutter.

I'm not a superhero or a psychiatrist who can stop all the emotionally handicapped from staying in the gutter of life. If it gives someone satisfaction knowing that any praise they get belongs to someone else...well, they are just choosing to be pathetic and waste their time on this Earth. They could do better on their own merit; yet they decided not to try for something they could take pride in. What a waste.

Me? I'm going to write some more.

* * *

2/20/10: Damn....I was so upset about the thief, I forgot to put the disclaimer in. Justice League and all it's wonderful characters names and places are not mine. They belong to DC and Warner Bros. The plot and dialogue here are mine save for the Wikepedia passages on domestic workers. You will only find my JL stories at FFN.

* * *

.

Kinetic Energy: noun: _(Physics) energy that a body possesses by virtue of being in motion._

_.  
_

_[So, they took the bait?]_

"Yep--both of them. Wally tried to make something for Bruce like you suggested---and boy, was that scary to see---then _decided_ to take responsibility lessons from Alfred." Tim rolled his eyes. "Gee, I wonder how _that_ idea got planted in his brain?"

_[Who knows why odd thoughts strike? Let's just put it down to...a mystery. So Alfred fell before the onslaught of Wally's eyes. Ha! We knew it would work.]_

"I still don't get why you didn't just give him some stuff or money to buy things with. Maybe have J'onn say he could stay and eat at the Watchtower for awhile."

_[The Watchtower commissary is down for repairs after Green Arrow started a food fight and one wayward _cheeseburger arrow_ damaged the refrigeration system. Besides, Wally wouldn't have taken anything that smacked of charity...or have just given it away to some shelter. Believe me, I've tried--he's got more pride than Bruce does--hence this manipulative scheme. I better go. Don't let him find out I'm behind this or he'll run off, Tim. This is for his own good.]_

"I won't. Later, 'Wing."

Tim turned off his cell and glided over to the nondescript door. He knocked four times--three in succession, then the last after an infinitesimal beat that most would have missed. The door opened a crack, closed, then opened again all the way. Wally stepped aside so that Tim could come in as quickly as possible. The door was then shut and locked behind him so fast he didn't even hear the click.

"Wally."

"Master Timothy."

The boy hero blinked at the speedster--first at being so politely addressed by a man who delighted in teasing him, then at Wally's new set of clothes. They were a far cry from what he'd been wearing just hours before. Tim could not get over how down right _presentable_ his friend appeared. The neatly pressed dark green woolen slacks and white Egyptian cotton shirt with a full length tie of burgundy red made him look positively...cultured. Even his hair had been neatly trimmed and combed with nary a hair out of place.

It was downright surreal.

"Wally?" Tim gasped.

"That's me." At least the quick grin was unchanged.

"Wow."

For his part, Wally seemed less enthused with his new look as evidenced when his smile rapidly melted away.

Oh, the fabric was of exceptional quality right down to the lambswool socks and he suspected the entire ensemble came from some fancy Italian designer seeing as the name on the label made his eyes cross over, but he wasn't used to such heavy fabrics trapping his body heat so well. With his metabolism constantly 'on', Wally felt overly warm regardless that the matching jacket was still hanging unused in the closet; and though they weren't anywhere near as form fitting as his Flash uniform, it wasn't as soft either. The starched collar felt just like the word implied--a device to make sure you felt _owned_. The hair gel made his fingers feel gooey when he ran them through his locks despite that it was actually of a very light consistency; again unfamiliarity with such things being on his person. Now, the ultra shiny shoes? They were not in the least bit springy like his normally thick-soled boots were. Worse, even though Alfred had insisted he was to see the items as a Christmas gift, Wally was scared to death of soiling the things and having to pay Alfred back as he had a feeling that they cost more money than he'd held in his life. As it was he feared he was going to need that stipend for a caseload of anti-perspiration body spray.

If this was the kind of torture the well moneyed had to endure since childhood, no wonder The Batman was so cranky.

"Alfred burned everything I had on while I was in the bath just so I couldn't wear any of it again," Wally explained in an almost whining tone. Tim kept on staring at him. "Then he insisted on trimming my hair and putting some styling oil on it which I really don't like because I have to comb it again every time I touch it like it really _matters_ if one strand is sticking up or something." Tim kept staring at him. "After that he foisted this straight jacket stuff on me." Reaching into a back pocket, Wally withdrew a leather billfold. "Although, he did throw in this nifty wallet with all these odd little pocket sections made to fit ready-made I.O.U. slips--which is kind of handy; but nothing for holding coins in--which is really weird..."

"Credit cards," Tim explained while his brain was still operating on automatic.

"Huh?"

Tim realized he was still staring and mentally shook himself out of his stupor. "Nobody carries coins these days and those slits are not for holding I.O.U's...they're for credit cards."

Wally shrugged. _Credit cards, promissory notes...they were just different ways of saying 'Hey, I can't afford this, but please let it slide this once?'_ The billfold was returned to it's place. Gesturing at the garments, the speedster fretted, "I feel like some sort of male model for a fancy clothier advert whose been threatened with death if he so much as puts one wrinkle on the merchandise."

"Have you even _seen_ yourself in a mirror yet?" Tim wanted to know.

"Well, yeah...kind'a. Alfred set me before one, but I didn't really pay attention as it was just too much at once and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Why?" His eyes widened. "Did he buzz cut some kind of slang on the back of my head? Add a girlie ribbon?" He reached back with both hands, frantically feeling for anything that smacked of a prank. In other words, something he would do.

"You...look _hot_." Tim blushed and wanted to die for how that sounded. Fortunately, the man was too engrossed in himself to notice and make fun of him.

"Tell me about it!" Wally exclaimed as he abandoned his search for vindictive hair-style deviations, plucking carefully at the shirt front. "I'm sweltering in this! Whoever said natural fabrics breathe better than synthetics never wore a Flash uniform to compare--"

"No...I mean you look hot in the way a guy whose thinking about what a girl might go for in a guy would call hot."

Wally blinked. Then grinned fit to burst. "Really?"

"Um, _I'm just a fellow guy_," Tim emphasized for good measure, "but...yeah. I think any girl would look twice at you."

Speeding over to the bathroom mirror, Wally gave himself a thorough once over. "Hey, I don't look half bad in this at that." He turned around to study the effect from his other side. "The green really brings out my eyes and compliments my hair and maybe the fabric isn't _that_ uncomfortable..." he pouted a little "..even if it does kind'a hide my tight butt. I wonder if it comes in bright red with lighting trim?"

Tim just nodded as he tore his eyes away from the novel sight of a well-attired Wally West----if not that of a preening one. Afraid of looking like he was checking the speedster out, Tim glanced around for something else to talk about. His eyes latched onto a set of books on the study desk.

"What's this?" He lifted a book and read the title "Standard Etiquette. Rules for Young Gentlemen. Steps Towards Self-Improvement?" Wally was back at his side in a heart beat.

"Homework, Master Tiny Tim. You know, the work a student does in order to gain knowledge? Alfred has me reading up on what a manservant is while he clears out a room, but I can't get my head around all those being as the text is so dry it would kill Aquaman on contact, so I'm also trying out alternative stuff I borrowed from the Gotham Library."

Tim saw that underneath the desk were other books, hidden from casual view. _Social Etiquette for Dummies. The Idiot's Guide On Not Being One. So You Want To Be More Than A Doofus Slapped In A Tux? _He glanced up at the red head, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.

"Yo, don't diss the mass marketing fare," Wally warned him. "The info is the same except in a more palatable form. Not to mention--" Wally picked one up and flipped through it, grinning at the little panels of comical artwork that graced the beginning of each chapter, "the comic strips are pretty cool."

"There's a learning aid plus," Tim rolled his eyes.

"Yep." He sat Tim down at the work station and clicked on a browser book tab. "Check this out. I'm also looking stuff up on Wikipedia." The screen dutifully brought up the public encyclopedia.

"Alfred refers to that as _'Wicked Impedia,_' Tim nodded knowingly. No wonder Wally was so wary when he opened the door for him. Alfred would have thrown a fit at a pupil using anything less than scholarly materials of a major university's level. He set his fingers upon the keyboard. "Let me see what it says...

_A __domestic worker__ is someone who works within the employer's household. Domestic workers perform a variety of household services for an individual or a family, from providing care for children and elderly dependents to cleaning and household maintenance, known as housekeeping. Responsibilities may also include cooking, doing laundry and ironing, food shopping and other household errands. Some domestic workers live within the household where they work.~~wikipedia"_

Tim smirked a bit devilishly. "If you lived where you worked your employer would have to own a small country full of farmland to keep your stomach happy."

Wally glowered at the reminder of why he was forced to indenture himself in the first place and was ready to let loose a bit of his temper, but then thought better of it considering what he'd just read about how a manservant took care of the family of his boss. Alfred would not be happy if he accidentally ran the child of a _prospective employer to the Arctic Circle even if he gave the excuse of cooling them both off._

"I don't eat _that _much." His raging appetite was a sore point what with it being the main cause of his monetary woes as well as a rather big issue in keeping his secret identity just that. If Wally West was habitually seen emptying out the local All-You-Can-Eat restaurants, it would be a dead giveaway that he was The Flash. As it was all of his friends and coworkers thought he was making a pig of himself at meal times. Not a selling point for prospective girlfriends.

Well, that and not being able to pick up the tab.

"Okay, we already know you can't be trusted with grocery shopping or cooking--" Tim snickered, blissfully unaware of how close he was to seeing how well the polar ice caps were really doing against global warming. He blinked. "Exactly _which_ room is Alfred airing out and why?"

"The laundry room," Wally sighed letting his ire fade away as quickly as it had manifested. "While Alfred was getting my new suit I thought I'd help out by doing some ironing for him. I mean, I've seen it done enough times in commercials and TV sitcoms." He pantomimed the actions, " You plug in the iron and press down. I mean what's the top setting for except to speed things up a little?"

_

* * *

"Mast--I mean, Mr. West---what in heaven's name set off the smoke detector and why does it smell like barbecued wet sheep in...here? Oh dear....tell me those aren't the remains of Master Bruce's favorite trousers?"_

_"I'm sorry! I just wanted to help and then--! Please don't tell Batz I set his pants on fire!"_

* * *

How was I to know the hottest settings along with super speed were not to be used on delicate fabrics?" _Thank God that the room sported natural ventilation so as to get rid of the majority of the charred merino wool smell before Bruce happened by and saw what had become of that pair of pants. The last thing Wally wanted was to get the butler in trouble._

"Well, so much for ironing duties," Tim looked again at the article "And we have no elderly dependents or children for you to practice on."

Wally gave Tim a meaningful look, making the latter's eyes widen in dismay.

"_No_. Don't even go there, Wally."

"Just a pretend jaunt to the playground," Wally pleaded with full puppy-eye super powers engaged to warp factor two. Tim quickly placed his hands over his eyes just like Dick had once instructed him to in self defense. "You said it yourself---I look hot in this outfit. What better way to check out that hypothesis than by having your caretaker's studly new look checked out by the passing females?"

_"No."_

_Time to bring into play the big cards._

"I'll push you on the big kids swing hard enough to make a full loop---The Vertical Axis---and not tell Bruce."

Tim breathed out, trying to resist temptation. "Big kids? A full circle over the bar?" _That was every kid's fantasy while on the swings--achieving The Vertical Axis. He'd once asked Superman for that kind of a push, but Bruce was such the worrier that Tim would get hurt while doing something non-Robin and thus be rendered for a time useless _as_ The Boy Wonder...he'd threatened to put itching powder along with kryptonite dust down the Man of Steel's shorts.  
_

"Yup....the whole enchilada."

_Wally had probably likewise been threatened with something similar before this, but fortunately for Tim, the speedster was either unrealistically confident or just plain stupid.  
_

"And a quad-decker ice cream split?" Tim wheedled. _Heck, he was on a roll._

"Only if you pay and _after_ I'm through calling dibs on the coconut-mint."

"What? No way!" Flash could eat a factory full of coconut mint. Tim wouldn't stand a chance in hell of getting any.

"Look into my eyesss when you deny me what isss rightfully mine," Wally playfully hissed.

"I could make you fail the child care part, you know," Tim reminded him from behind the continued safety of his closed fingers. _(He wasn't stupid. He'd watched Disney's The Jungle Book!_)

"Okay, okay," Wally growled, his second-greatest power thwarted. "You get the best flavor. But only until Alfred gives me a passing grade on child caring." _And I get some free ice cream_.

"Sweet! Coco-mint, you are _mine!_" Tim uncovered his eyes so he could read further down the Wikipedia article. Both blanched at the part of sexual misconduct between apprentices and mentors and reached for the scroll down bar.

"Ew! I think I'll take a rain check on that ice cream. Stomach upset." He felt ill.

"Ditto and I double that 'ew!' and raise you a 'gah! Good thing Alfred's straight," Wally gulped.

"You sure about that?" Drake asked with a sly glint in his eye.

"Don't yank my barf bag, Timmy boy," Wally warned him. "I don't go into Winter/Spring flings. Alfred's old enough to be my grandpa."

Stomach lurching a second time at the mental image of Alfred gamely carrying Flash into a bridal suite, Tim decided to move on.

_Okay, maybe he wouldn't move on just yet. This was rich!_

"If Alfred makes _you_ wear _knickers and hose_ like it says here, I'll need to get my camcorder in case he proposes."

Wally glared at him. "If you keep joking about that one more time _-or-_ take pictures of me wearing knickers--a certain pair of _Superman_ boxer briefs (which so happen to have your "R" alias on the back waistband) are going to hit the Facebook rounds_. Along_ with the fictional story of how they got that scorch on the right bum via heat vision and why Robins wear _Short Pants_, and..." Wally smirked at Tim's gawking expression.

"Wait a sec...._what_ scorch mark?"

"You think I did my first ironing practice run on Bruce's pants? I pack a mean heated iron, remember? _ Real _mean."

Tim gulped. Geez, now I'm so giving you a failing grade on properly taking care of Wayne's kid."

"Considering the pranks we've pulled, I think Bruce has already done that, so small loss." The speedster's eyes lit up as he caught something interesting in the Wikipedia article, all threats forgotten. "Hey, Tim--look! It says one type of manservant is a _footman_! That sounds right up my alley!" He shuddered. "Unless it's about giving pedicures?"

Tim clicked on the link. "Doubt it_. Male servant_...um...so far so good. Nothing about foot rubs or anything like that."

Wally gamely read the description. _"Runs along the side of the coach to keep it being overturned by obstacles..._. Hey, I can jog alongside the Batmobile and keep Rogue junk from messing with its traction--no sweat! Then run ahead and knock out the bad guys before Batz got to his destination--yikes!" The speedster hand was vibrating so hard with excitement over their find that his palm went through the mouse. Not unsurprisingly...it exploded. He quickly snatched the pieces from the air before they could penetrate either the computer or Tim; then held out the mouse pieces in triumph. "I can do the same thing for Bruce on the road. No more flat tires or muck obscuring his windshield."

"Oh, that would look good," a sarcastic Robin commented, "The Batman driving after crooks with Flash wielding a broom and cloth wipes running in front removing every pebble, tack, bug splat and oil spill from the path of the Batmobile. Nothing image damaging there."

"Ye of little faith," Wally was practically vibrating into another dimension again. "Who says anyone would see me, the Fastest Footman Alive?

_Male servants were more highly paid than female servants, and footmen were something of a luxury and therefore status symbol even among the servant-employing classes. They performed a less essential role than the cook, maid or even butler, and were part only of the grandest households. Since a footman was for show as much as for use, a tall footman was more highly prized than a small one, and good looks, including well-turned legs, which were shown off by the traditional footman's dress of stockings worn below knee breeches, an advantage. Footmen were expected to be unmarried and tended to be relatively young; they might, however, progress to other posts, notably that of butler.~~wikipedia"_

"Well, you've got the good looks..." Tim had to admit.

"Also some well turned legs," Wally said with not a little pride, flashing a scarlet-clad masculine gam. The Central City news had once run a poll where The Flash had won the contest of 'Best Pair Of Legs in all of the Twin Cities' hands down.

"If you say so, Stockings & Breeches."

"Are you kidding?" Wally dismissively waved away the idea that wearing those could truly embarrass him. "After donning the Flash uniform for a living? What Uncle Barry was thinking when he designed something that leaves almost nothing to the imagination... Anyway, you can hardly talk, Elf Boy."

"Oh, shut up."

Wally was yet again vibrating in place with joy for finally having found the perfect way to please Batman. Tim started to mentally wonder just which room was directly below this one and how well the plaster ceiling of it was holding out. Wally wanted to whoop out loud. "Man, I've got this footman thing _owned!"_

The speedster finished another paragraph and did break out in laughter a breath later. "Says that _'demobilized officers frequently kept on a good __batman__ as private servant, the word got applied to a household servant, who usually serves—standing—at meals while the master and guests remain seated. The roughly synonymous term lackey may have a similar etymology.' _Man, how I want to show Bruce this! I've _got_ to show Bruce this!"

"Where does it say that? Holy Moley that's hilarious! But Alfred would throw a fit if you did that," Tim snickered, "then throw you out on your ear."

Wally's face fell, realizing that Tim was right. He pouted. "Dude, this being a servant stuff can suck at times."

His cohort mulled over the problem. "Let's email it to him anonymously." He shrugged. "Er...after we find this thing a new mouse."

"Master Tiny Tim, I take back everything I said about you. You are truly a worthy apprentice."

"Thanks."

They high-fived.

"Who says I can't properly rear a child into the ways of his elders?" Wally declared, roughing up Tim's hair. He looked at the clock on the computer screen. "Crap--I'm supposed to meet Alfred to learn how to run the washer and dryer and go over my working uniform in one minute and I haven't studied that stuff yet!"

"But after the ironing incident...?"

"Pssht. You normals have short memories. He'll forgotten all about that by now."

* * *

_Bruce glanced upwards to where plaster particulates had fallen into his glass of Chablis while he'd been simultaneously watching the news from Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City. Gotham was uncharacteristically quiet, Superman was doing his thing in his city, while Central was wondering about the sudden absence of their own resident hero. He'd been contemplating calling The Watchtower to get a fix on Flash's current location when--plunk!---unwanted ingredients had been added to his drink. Getting up to inspect the ceiling more closely, he frowned at the new cracks and resolved to have Alfred call a plasterer in the morning, forgetting all about calling the Watchtower.  
_

_

* * *

[Hey, bro..how goes it?]_

"He was starting to waver, so I appealed to his vanity. Wasn't hard to do though. Alfred really did a good job making him over. I swear I almost didn't recognize him."

_[Alfred's the best.]_

"Yeah, but what about Bruce? He's bound to find out at some point that Wally's living in the mansion."

_[J'onn's working on Operation: Distract The Bat. Don't worry, Tim. Nothing will go wrong.]_

_"This is Wally and Bruce we are dealing with."_

_[So...nothing insurmountable will go wrong.]_

"Just remember that no matter what, I'm the innocent kid in all of this."_  
_

_

* * *

  
_

"And these are called what again, Master Pennyworth?" Wally sheepishly held up the white pieces of buttoned fabric between his index finger and thumb to his glowering mentor, wishing his Speed Force cramming allowed him to keep the information in his head for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Though he could take _in_ information fast enough to make a final exam student green with envy, the memories tended to fade _out_ of his brain almost as rapidly. Wally was half afraid these white things were really some sort of top secret piece of ladies wear he'd never laid eyes on before and that Tim had talked Alfred into using them in a prank on Wally as payback for having used bleach instead of detergent on the last batch of laundry....which had resulted in a delay in Alfred's getting him his new uniform seeing as some rapid shopping had then been in order.

Was it his fault the bottles of those two chemicals were shaped the same and he'd been in a hurry to get the load done before he forgot anything?

.

.

(Earlier)

"Due to the secret nature of Master Bruce's work, I do the laundry here and send most of the ordinary items to a cleaning service so as not to arouse suspicion...Mister West, I brought you in here for instruction---not for show and tell."

Wally gleefully held up an intimate male garment. "Bruce wears black silk boxers with little silver bats on them? How cute can you get--_OW!"_

"Rule number 54, Mister Wallace. The servants do _not_ comment on their employer's admittedly deplorable choice in undergarments."

"So then these thongs with the racing flames on them must be Tim's then?" Wally asked. "I thought he solely went in for Supes patterns. _Ow!_ Hey, you said that rule was for employers and Tim's not my--!" _Dawning comprehension._ "Yours? You've _got_ to be kidding me. _OW! Darn good thing I heal fast._ Say, Master_ ((Sidious...))_, did you ever consider using a funoodle rather than a soup ladle for this negative disciplining stuff you are so fond of? Ow!"

"Just add the detergent and switch on the washing machine!"

"Okay, okay...added it already. Can we go eat now?"

[Forty minutes later...]

_"Uh...Master Pennyworth? Do Bruce and Tim ever consider going out as...well, as the White Knight and The Ghostly Wonder?"_

_"What kind of question is... __WHAT DID YOU DO?!"_

Apparently so as Alfred continued to fault him.

Typical....low man on the totem pole always got handed the blame.

At least it hadn't been any of his own stuff in that particular washing. With his pale complexion he looked awful in all white.

.

.

"Spats," Alfred repeated rather tiredly.

_Well, the butler had been out shopping for replacement clothing for the Wayne household and re-dying a Batman suit for hours so Wally considered the bags under the butler's eyes as being rather understandable. Not his fault if Master Pennyworth had turned down his offer to help fix things.  
_

"Splats?"

Alfred pinched his nose while pointing down to the white pair gracing his own shoes. "Spats, Mister West. S.P.A.T.S. Spats."

Wally followed the finger's path and grinned in realization. "Oh--In case someone tries to spit on your shoes, it can't dribble down inside?"

"No--er..._yes_. That's it _exactly_, Mr. West." _Dear Patron Saint of all Domestic Hired Helpers....spare me for the lie. I plead extreme duress!_

"Cool!" Wally grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Damn, Master Jeeves, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of this cultured servant stuff. OW!"

"What was that?"

"Uh...sleeves! I meant I was getting a hang of having cuffed _sleeves_. Tricky buggers." (Thank God for quick thinking!)

Alfred gave him a look that would have made Captain Cold's gun obsolete. "Moving on to the _second_ piece of your uniform..."

* * *

"A gentleman's gentleman always enunciates his sentences with perfect clarity so as to be understood the first time and not have to repeat himself." _If only the listener would cooperate! _ "Now Mister West, repeat after me..."

"I thought a gentleman's gentleman didn't repeat?"

_Dear God not again_. "Not his own words, no."

"Oh. So a gentleman's gentleman gets others to repeat them for him? That seems kind of a complicated way do things. Is it some sort of union rule?"

"Just--" Alfred took a deep breath. Perhaps it was time to switch to positive reinforcement? "Repeat what I say as clearly as you can....and...I'll let you eat the fudge I baked for Bruce."

"Does Bruce like it gooey?"

"Yes."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's _burn_ this copy disk. Shoot!"

_If only doing so wouldn't land me in Arkham. _ "Now...The rain in Spain lies mainly in the plain."

"The pain of Spain lies mainly in the rain."

_"Mister Wallace West!_ Are you not listening? That sentence left your mouth as an utterly jumbled catastrophe."

"Oh yeah? _You_ ever speed run in Spain and slip on a mud slick after a downpour? Believe me, my version is more accurate." Wally's face fell as Alfred was pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can kiss that fudge goodbye, huh?"

"You're not even getting that close to it."

"Damn."

* * *

In the recesses of his office at Wayne Enterprise's main headquarters, Bruce Wayne mulled over his computer. Something felt off. He was missing something important...something about the League? He glanced at a newspaper headline the night janitor must have been reading during his break and fished it out of the wastebasket. The Keystone Yearly Euclidean Revival picnic had been waylaid by The Trickster....and the police were still searching for the Rogue? No, not just the League...Flash. Flash hadn't been seen around his cities for days. That was not like West. The kid might be an immature ham. Might drive him crazy with his inability to take things seriously, but he loved his home and wanted to protect it just as much as Bruce felt obligated to protect the people of Gotham. "I better contact The Watchtower and see..."

Which reminded him...he'd promised Alfred he'd be on time for dinner. Plus, he had a party at the manor to orchestrate for that charity event. Flash was fine. The League would have contacted him if there was trouble. It was time to go home.

* * *

a/n: I've seen most people have Wally use the spelling 'Bats' when referring to Batman. I use 'Batz' so that when I'm doing a word find, I don't keep ending up finding documents that are about flying mammals instead.


	4. Party Plans

A/N: :) Song excerpt is from the Osmond Brothers. Mostly.

* * *

Chapter Four: Party Plans

.

_...__Oh, yeah, and need I say,_  
_ I can`t break away_  
_ You control every_  
_ Little thing I do_

_ I used to be a swinger_  
_ Til you wrapped me_  
_ Round your finger._

_ Just like a yo-yo.._

_up and down with plaster dough...  
_

"So, Master Pennysworth," a cheerful Wally stopped super-speed humming under his breath in order to address his newest mentor as he loaded a trowel with more fresh plaster, "this shindig Bruce is going to host...is it a big deal or what?" His supervisor looked on as the speedster's blurred image ran back up the ladder to apply the paste over the cracks he'd accidentally made to the Wayne ceiling, used his super speed to hand blow dry the latest layer, then race back down to repeat the actions. _ "Just like a yo-yo..."_

Before Alfred could haughtily respond that the Wayne Estate did not host _shindigs_ of any size _deal_, he was interrupted by Tim. The boy was near the door keeping an eye out for any sign of Bruce. (Drake had opted for guard duty as opposed to holding the ladder steady as it provided him with an excuse to 'help' (as well as spy for Nightwing) while still keeping a safe distance from the 'quick' repair job. One wayward splat of plaster puddy in his hair courtesy of Wally's first attempt had been enough, thank you ever so much.)

"You could say that, Wally, but I wouldn't use that particular phrase. The Founders Financial Network was started by Wayne Technologies. Businessmen from successful corporations who donate large sums to non-profit organizations such as orphanages and hospices. They come to schmooze-"

_"Converse is the proper word, Master Timmy Tyke."_

"-right..." (Tim forced his eyes not to roll at Wally's sucking up before the presence of Alfred) "_converse_ and write fat checks to whomever is deemed the most worthy. Bruce hosts it every year."

"Well, I can't do the fat checks part unless you don't mind them bouncing like rubber balls, but schmoozing-or conversing-sounds right up my alley," Wally grinned. The hand holding the trowel tilted a degree too much. "Oops." He ran down to intercept an errant glop before it could hit Alfred on his bare pate.

Tim gaped. "Hey, how come you didn't catch it when-?"

""Well, you're shorter than any of us plus you're a Bat Kiddie, Master Tiny Tim," Wally reasoned. "I figured that being the case you'd have had more time and dexterity to evade it." Drake opened his mouth again, but only some indignant sputters spilled forth. Wally didn't miss the small tug on Alfred's mouth that bespoke of the butler's urge to smile.

_Success!_

"Nevertheless, the next time such a disaster of any proportion ensues I suggest you don't make the assumption that Master Tiny Ti-_Master Timothy_-" Alfred quickly corrected, "is as fast as you are. Also that you endeavor to remember his correct title."

"Discounting the _Robin the Boy Wonder_ one when not in the company of Batz?"

"Indeed."

_Twice almost a smile there, Alfie-and a slip on the ice. Score one and one-half points for The Fastest Man Alive!_

Hiding a grin, Wally finished up the repair job-receiving Alfred's okay that it was _quite acceptable_-then whisked everything back to the maintenance _hut_ that Bruce kept in the back of his property. (It was rather unnerving that the shed was larger and better constructed than most of the apartments he'd rented over the years, but Batz was a billionaire. Not even an upgraded Tuff Shed would be good enough to shelter a Batman broom.) "Well, that's done," Wally declared, clapping the non-existent dust from his hands. "Now, what am I going to be doing?"

"Reinforcing the bolts in the bed you used as a trampoline on your way to breakfast yesterday morning," was the butler's rather pointed reply.

"Yeah... I mean _no_...well, not _no-_because I'll get to that, I promise...I'm talking about the _party_", the speedster clarified. He was now openly grinning like a loon, his eyes gleaming with the possibilities of both being useful _and_ having fun. (Wally was very keen on parties. Lots of food, music, dancing with gorgeous people. Motion & Munchies-what was not to love about a party?) "You need a deejay? A bartender? Server? I've got recording of all the latest soundtrack hits, can make a mean orange punch with or without the 'jet fuel' ifyouknowwhatImean, whip out platters of a dozen pretzel sandwich appetizer recipes alone, then-"

"No doubt all within the blink of an eye," Alfred interrupted the spiel, "however, you, Mr. West, are going to remain well out of sight."

Wally's grin fell like Superman in the presence of green kryptonite while holding tightly to a wrecking ball. "But...You're kidding me, right? I'm the Fastest Manservant Alive; plus, I have experience with parties-_vast_ experience!" Wally disappeared then reappeared, arms laden with plastic bags and a photo album. He placed the book in Alfred's hands then zipped around the room, changing the decor even as he helpfully flipped to certain pages for the butler to illustrate his point. "Lookeehere-I've helped set up birthday parties..." _zoom/flip_ "anniversaries.._." zoom/flip _"stag parties" _zoom/flip_ "man,Bunnysurewashotinthatskimpy...yeah!" _zoom/flip_ "pity parties..." _zoom/flip_ "bar mitzvahs..." _zoom/flip_ "-well,okay,thatlastdidn'tgososwell...nevermind-I can set room decorations, the table settings, and/or serve the food quicker than anyone this side of the universe!"

With one hand Alfred steadied the priceless vase Wally's running about had nearly toppled over as he walked forward to study one of the shopping bags that were now littering the floor-studiously ignoring for now the spiderwebs of crepe paper hanging from the chandeliers or "Pin The Tail On The Donkey" poster taped over a priceless oil painting. "Yes; however, this is a high-classed, white-tie function, not high school hootenanny or..." he sniffed at the names on the plastic carry-alls "a kiddie carnival. _Discount Dollar_ crepe paper with _Funtime_ party hats, favors and...and..._a free Wind-Up Chattering Teeth with every purchase of Birthday Bash Blaster 10,000 Animal Balloons N' A Bag?_" He let the plastic container drop back to the floor with a look of distaste. "These will _not_ do; nor are we wanting to be advertising _The Flash_ as employee or attendee. Not to belittle your progress, Mr. West, but you are still _very much_ in the novice training stage...and heaven forbid that Master Bruce should spot you during the party in _an_y capacity. I'm afraid that for the duration I am ordering you to remain in your room." _So I can have a hope in hell of saving my sanity and the Wayne's gala event._

_"Really, _Master Drake, let us not add potential child corruption charges to the endangerment ones already violated." Alfred pulled the photo book out of Tim's hands before the minor could find the 'stag' section and left with the _inappropriate_ contraband._  
_

"Oh," The _specialized_ balloon Wally had been clandestinely blowing up slipped from his fingers allowing the escaping air to chorus his feelings exactly, "...raspberries."

"Bad luck, Wally."

"You've no idea." _Bunny's personal phone number was in there._

* * *

_Bruce strolled through his study. He glanced up and noted that Alfred had already seen to repairing the ceiling. Good old Alfred was always so efficient at keeping the manor in an excellent shape and so pristine. Well...usually, pristine. Having spotted an object lying behind a potted plant, he gingerly picked it up. "Acme whoopie cushion?"_

_No doubt about it...Tim had been spending entirely too much time around Wally._

_Speaking of whom, the Scarlet Menace was still missing in action. He really needed to look into...? Into...what? Oh yes, his newest Bat gear. That was it. Flash was fine.  
_

* * *

_Up in the Watchtower, J'onn J'onzz let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. If he'd known beforehand just how much Bruce thought about the Flash (in the capacity of a potential and ongoing menace), he'd never have accepted Nightwing's bribe of chocos for this. It was truly what the humans referred to as a 24/7 job._

* * *

"This blows," a morose Wally declared as he snatched up another balloon. "This blows..." a vague animal form seemed to take shape within his hands as if by magic "...horseys." He added the equine to his 'herd' of bulbous stallions. It was just one of many steadily growing zoological piles taking up space in his room.

Since the party things couldn't be returned, he and Tim were making use of them to while away some free time before lunch. They were putting together balloon animals to give to however many orphanage kids Wally could secret them to during his coming lunch break. Nets of crepe paper were keeping most of the zoological wonders from taking over the floor, but his bed and desk had already been overrun by the things.

Or at least _Wally_ was making them. Tim was staring with equal unhappiness at the one and same balloon he'd had in his hand as if he had no idea what it was for. Of course, his glum expression was directly tied to the animals being his idea: an effort to take Wally's mind off of Alfred's nixing his being at the party at all...as well as something about the loss of a rabbit. "Yeah, but you really aren't ready for that kind of thing. You've only been in training for...what...two months?" The Batman assistant who could outsmart super villains and work advanced technology tentatively attempted to inflate his own balloon for the third time. It refused to cooperate. _Must be some kind of trick to this.  
_

"Over a week."

"Really? _Feels like it's been two months_." Tim mumbled. He tried to blow up the balloon again...to no avail. Hopefully one of the kids would be thrilled to receive a balloon-animal Stylommatophora [terrestrial slug] that had died as road kill.

"Would you get serious?" Wally (who, it must be said, was currently modeling a gag arrow-through-the-head) glared at him; snatched up the balloon and used super speed to stretch it out then inflated it, twisted the end, tied a knot, repeated this several more times and flung it and fifteen more multi-colored giraffes and one platypus to his growing menagerie all before Tim could blink.

"Okay, Mr. Noah, so I'm lousy at polymeric animal husbandry. You forget who I work with. Not like there's much call in creating balloon animals when fighting against people like Scarecrow or the Toy Man. Usually if I have to deal with the things it's because I'm trying to pop my way out giant ones filled with nitrous oxide."

"Lucky you. The Trickster likes to fill his with swamp gas." Wally set down his bag of balloons. "Sorry, Master Timothy, guess I'm just feeling a bit...useless. To be honest I've not exactly had much practice with...with rich stuff. Except for desserts...eating them." He frowned. "You know, I can't see how hard it could be to just serve drinks and appetizers. Should be no more difficult than handing out beers during a hockey game."

Tim picked up a balloon animal, wondering vaguely what kind of kid Wally thought would appreciate a rainbow-hued squid. Maybe Tempest? He settled for amusing himself with winding up the plastic dentures-on-feet for a short stroll. "It's not hard. Although you do have to be able to restrain yourself from eating the food meant for the guests and some of the invitees are kind of snotty, I think Alfred's main point was that Bruce would recognize your infamous self and get a bit...disgruntled."

"You mean he'd pitch a Goddamn Batman R-rated episode ballistic enough to trigger the Omega Alert on the Watchtower, then torture us with insidious Bat devices as soon as the capes were clear." Wally nudged a balloon ostrich out of the way before it risked a one-legged life thanks to the rampaging teeth. _A heroes work is never done._

"Language," Tim tsked at him.

"Nope, it's even in the JLA/Batman Codebook." Before Tim could work out a reply, Wally continued on:

"I suppose I do have that sort of face people remember. I'm pretty distinctive-ish." Wally spotted a pair of spring-propelled googly-eyed plastic eye wear and smirked, trying it on. He then choose one of the party hats-polka dotted clown hat with a plastic filament wig sewn onto the base. He grinned as inspiration struck. Putting on the hat, he arranged the neon purple 'hair' so that it fell over his own ginger hues in a garish contrast. "But...what if I blended in?"

(He was also still wearing that arrow.)

Tim stared at him. "That's a joke, right?"

* * *

"I don't get it. There's a bunch of makeup and and assorted masquerade stuff down in the Batcave," Tim felt the need to be pointed out. "Bruce uses it all the time for undercover work when he's not being Batman. Why not just borrow some of it?"

"_Subtlety_, Master Tiny Tim...subtlety with a fiver for a bottle of cheap washes-out hair dye and the lowest-level reading glasses at The Inflated Dollar Store." Wally finished combing back his temporarily jet black hair, slipped on the glasses...then messed up his bangs a bit. (Hair-as far as he was concerned-was not meant to be slicked back in a cage of oily goop. It was supposed to be wild and free to catch the wind. Man, he missed his old Kid Flash suit. Unfortunately, having to take the time to dye and later _un-dye_ his natural and highly distinctive hair color every time he heard a cry of distress had proven financially as well as temporally unfeasible.) "If Clark can get away with going ultra basic in camouflage, why not me?"

Tim snorted. "Who says Clark gets away with it? Everyone just humors him like they do with the Green Arrow and his mustache and goatee." They both giggled at Ollie Queen's naivety.

"Flash Quiz: If you were Bruce and you thought that _Wally West_ was going to try to put something past you, would you imagine he'd do something outrageously outlandish or something simple?" Wally asked him.

"Outrageously..." Tim immediately started to answer, then sighed in agreement that his friend had a point. " Yeah, I get it. Counter sneakiness is not your usual style."

"Darn right it isn't. But I'm taking a page off of Batz sneakiness manual and acting contrary." He gave himself four last checks in the mirror.

_Because you never acted contrary before this?_ "Do you still have that fake arrow?" Tim asked.

Wally paused as he glanced back at his cohort with a puzzled frown. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because Ollie Queen will also be there. If this goes sour, we may need it to fake your death and pin the rap on him because everyone knows Green Arrow hates you ever since you kissed Dinah at the last Christmas party."

"Yo-I was drunk, there was mistletoe involved along with a hot babe who was just standing there..."

"-Waiting for _Ollie_ to get his rear in gear."

Wally huffed. "Was it my fault he was slower to assess the situation?" Wally considered the plausibility of GA's potential for homicidal rage and had to admit that Tim's idea had some merit. "Always thinking one step ahead, are we?"

Tim shrugged. "I can't help making contingency plans. It's a Bat Kid thing."

"Compulsive behavior excuses ready to fire off at a moment's notice. You're the best little acolyte I've ever had. A strip off the old spandex." He struck his chest. There was a muffled squeaky noise.

"What was that?"

Wally placed a protective hand over the area. "Merely my stomach protesting it's emptiness. I was denied fudge earlier. Bound to generate some gastrointestinal angst."

"As a _squeak_ instead of a grumble?"

"So? Maybe we're feeling high strung today."

"Just remember...I'm the innocent kid in all of this."

* * *

A/N: I had to rewrite this three times. Three! Browser would freeze every time and not let me hist save.


	5. Helping

Kyer does not own anything but the plot and the blame for how it turns out.

* * *

Chapter 5

"He's going to do _what?"_

There were the sounds of a fight in the background. Undoubtedly, Nightwing was getting in some real fun in before he had to endure Bruce's stuffy gala.

_The elder kids got all the breaks.  
_

Tim sighed into his cell phone, wishing he was there beating up megalomaniacs too rather than helping Alfred with last minute preparations. He had to admit that he'd hoped Alfred would have relented enough to at least let the speedster take care of the little things in a few nanoseconds--stuff that was taking them a whole half hour to do. No such luck, though, as the past few days had made Pennysworth _paranoid_.

Well, who could blame Alfred?

"I'll quote him again, but this is the last time: _ 'Serve and protect_._ Like those guys on Hawaii 5-O 'cause they were cool and the babes were hot._"

_"He's more like Maxwell Smart," _Dick grunted in response to a fist connecting with a rib._  
_

"You realize that I have no idea what either one of you golden oldies are referring to?" Tim complained. Nightwing ignored him, too engrossed in his own mutterings as he tackled down the last would-be jewelry thief to explain baby boomer tv shows.

"Oh hell. I should have known Wally'd take this manservant thing way too seriously."

"You think? Again, I am compelled to remind you that I"m the innocent kid in all of this. Enticing him here was _your_ idea."

"Okay, okay...my bad. But we're not doomed yet. All you have to do is use some Bat Knock-Out Gas and keep him tied up until the party's over."

"That's a no go. I tried it already."

"You did?"

"Same pointy-eared mentor as you had....so, yes, _did_."

"Let me guess...."

"'Wing, please, we're talking about a man with only half a brain this side of normal--I don't have all day for you to pick the correct off-the-wall answer," Drake huffed. "He took a whiff of what I told him was room freshener....fell asleep for all of one second...then woke and told me that Febreeze did a better job at hiding room odors and offered to get some and show me. Then he did--the entire mansion. Never even slowed at your old stuff in order to gag first....though I think I caught some really fast swear words."

There was a pause from over the phone.

"Damn speedsters and their hyper metabolisms."

"Maybe so...but I got to admit even your old Bat Cave locker smells April fresh."

"Well, never mind. I'll see what I can do to keep A Perfect Storm from erupting once I get there. These guys are definitely out cold so the former ward of Bruce Wayne should be arriving at the party within thirty minutes or so."

"Should I call Oracle and get you the calculations for success on that secondary mission, oh, Wise Predecessor?"

"Don't you dare! Let me enjoy the illusion for a bit longer."

* * *

"Alfred, I trust that everything is prepared for tonight's torment?" Bruce asked as his manservant helped him with his jacket and selecting a matching tie. His question was laced with not a little sarcasm. If it weren't for the need of Bruce Wayne to appear utterly unlikely as a possible candidate for being the Batman in people's eyes, he'd happily do all his charity work by internet accounts.

Batman saved people. That didn't necessarily equate to wishing to be surrounded by boozing idiots.

"I believe the Iron Maiden may need another coat of polish and The Rack is showing termite damage....but otherwise everything is in order, Master Bruce. The caterers are setting up as we speak. There is one thing....I'm afraid the orchestra _is_ running later than expected. They are a substitute as the regular company made a calendar error and were booked for a royal engagement overseas. I am most regretful for this oversight, Master Bruce. When the regulars return I shall be delivering a most stern letter to their management about the keeping of proper records."

"I'm sure the substitute band will be fine," Bruce nodded as he adjusted his cuffs. "Never known you to fail at anything yet."

For a split second, the manservant let a faraway look remain in his eye as he whispered. "Well, you know what they say...there is always a first time."

Naturally, Bruce caught the remark. He gave his butler and lifetime friend a concerned look. "Alfred?"

His manservant smiled a bit dolefully. "Nothing, Master Bruce. It has simply been a long day. The party will be the talk of the media, I'm sure." He held up a dark tie in his right hand, mouth slightly quirked in an expression of quiet amusement. "Might I suggest the navy, sir? Unless you are feeling more daring and wish to go with the bow tie?" His other hand offered up darker piece of fabric. One that made his employer's eyes narrow in disdain.

"Very funny, Alfred."

"Ah...navy it is, then."

In answer, Wayne grabbed the navy one and started to put it on. "I wish you'd toss that ridiculous thing."

"With all due respect, Master Bruce...not a chance in Hell, sir."

Bruce inwardly shook his head. The black faux-leather bow tie had been one of the many inappropriate holiday gifts given to him by Flash over the year. This particular one was from last Halloween when he'd been talked into holding a party in the cave for the League Founders. The item had been carefully molded and sewn into the form of his signature Bat Symbol. Wally had zipped off before he could refuse it...being The Fastest Man Alive, he'd undoubtedly seen the scowl forming on the recipient's face before it had already begun and wisely decided to call it an early night. Alfred had berated him when he'd made to throw it away, so later on he'd _misplaced_ it in the kitchen refuge bin--at a Chinese restaurant five miles away. Obviously, Alfred wanted to keep it in order to tweak him with it on occasions such as this.

All right, the tie _was_ kind of cute in an artsy-craftsy sort of way. Plus seeing Wonder Woman fall right off of her Founder's chair from laughing too hard while Superman tried to stifle his own guffaws by subtly cramming a corner of his cape into his mouth...well, it was a good thing he kept a spy camera on hand for memorable events like that; but he'd made it stridently clear to a crestfallen Flash as well as the rest of the group when they next met up that Batman was neither frivolous nor willing to take even a 'harmless' risk with his secret identity by wearing gag gifts.

Besides...the bat was cheerfully _winking via some battery-operated mechanism_.

How Alfred had gotten hold of the thing was still a mystery. Probably Clark; damn him and his x-ray vision.

Bruce sniffed the air. Something had been tingling against his olfactory senses for the past half hour. "Alfred, cut down on the room fresheners....place is starting to smell like a flower shop." He sneezed. Alfred handed him a handkerchief.

"God bless you, sir."

* * *

_'So far so good. No sign of Batz or Alfred. No alarms had gone off as soon as he'd snuck out his bedroom window. (Well, the one did, but he'd totally dismantled it before it was able to make a sound.) He was going to pull this off and prove he wasn't a hopeless klutz or his name wasn't.....um,'_ Wally checked out his faked name badge, "Bartholomew East."

* * *

The start of the party saw the dark-haired and bespectacled Wally West in the kitchens with the rest of the hired help, watching the master cook selecting which trays were to be taken out to the main ballroom. The aromas of all the exotic fare was making him woozy, but Wally was strong. Lantern wasn't the only one with willpower. Besides, he'd pigged out earlier. Everything was going to work out just dandy.

* * *

Five minutes later he was walking out of the kitchens while balancing two platters of food to serve to the guests, a suave smile on his face.

_Doing great!_

Another five seconds: He was balancing two platters of food that smelled scrumptious, a determined glint in his eye.

_Doing good._

Two seconds more: He was hungry.

_Doing....fine._

_Really_ hungry._  
_

_Burp._

He was standing outside the kitchens staring forlornly at two platters with residual crumbs littering their shiny surface.

_Damn._ _He was the master of his stomach--not it's slave. Where there was a will there was a way!_

Back in to the kitchens. This time he'd use a touch of super speed to get it right.

* * *

He was holding a platter of food he'd snuck past the cooks that _did not _look scrumptious (or even truly edible when it came right down to it.)

He was flawlessly incognito as a hot young guy in a dapper suit about to be serving debatable munchies to hot babes.

_This is going to be a blast._

He entered the ballroom with a grin.

He exited the ballroom with a wide-eyed look of horror.

_'Dear God in Heaven Above!' _Wally internally moaned as he leaned back against the nearest wall_. He risked another peek into the room, but the scene was the same:  
_

Old people. Stuffy expressions on faces. Elevator music played solely upon acoustic instruments. Staid decorations probably kept in storage since Roosevelt was President.

The first one.

_Yep, the whole thing had the tag 'Old Fogeys' just plastered everywhere. Was this supposed to be a party or a Retirement Home Time-Share Presentation?_

_'This is...going to be as boring as monitor duty.'_

_"I should have known that Bruce wouldn't know how to throw a decent party to save his social life."_

"Hey you!"

_Gah! Caught. Alfred was surely going to have a cow over this. Not just any cow either, but one of those shaggy kind with the really long and sharp horns--also hooves. But those were bred in Scotland..did Alfred have contacts in Scotland? Probably. He'd raised Bruce so the man must have more contacts than 007---he certainly held a license to kill one Wally West. __  
_

A harried looking man with large eyes and bigger jowls was aiming straight for him with a purposeful stride that bode ill for his target.

_FBI? CIA? Federal Marshal? Unknown Bat Security come to arrest him for breaking and entering?  
_

_Oh hell--what have I gotten myself into? If only your brain was as surefooted as your feet, Wally! Be cool! Be suave. Act like you belong here while edging for the window and escape. Clark might take him in. Or Diana if he looked pathetic enough and promised not to stray from the couch. No windows. Crap! Maybe if I dissemble? Lie like a rug! No! Bat people can smell lies like carnivorous piranha smell blood and would go into a feeding frenzy just like in the Discovery Channel where they'd stripped a bovine in milliseconds because the little nippers were the fastest fishies alive! Think! How did the Amazon dudes get past the piranha? Distract Piranha Man with a food sacrifice that wasn't Wally West! Nothing distracts speedsters better than offering them food!  
_

_He thrust out a platter._

_"Foreign fish babies on cardboard crackers!"_

_Piranha Man gave him the fish eye, slowly opening his mouth to undoubtedly display his arsenal of deadly teeth.  
_

_"Uh...I meant...try some imported Beluga Caviar on Rye?"  
_

_Dear God his brain was already disassociating itself from it's coming demise just like they said the gazelle does right before the lion pounces._

"You!" the burly man grabbed his lapel and glanced at his name badge "East...can you sing?"

_"No way! I am not a stoolie!" 'Wait...This guy doesn't look like manor security even if he does look like a piranha. Was there manor security? I mean, what with Batman being right there living in-house what other security did...'_

"Look, mister, can you sing or not?"_  
_

"Well, y-yeah, but I'm only here to serve food--" Wally again held aloft his platter, nose wrinkling at the smell of it, "or whatever this stuff is."

Piranha Man dug into his pocket and produced a wallet with identification. 'Piranha Man' was not typed on it. "I'm Harold Hassex, the manager for the band." Stanley--my vocalist--came down with vodka poisoning at a stag and nobody else here can hold even a half-way decent tune." He made a face at the caviar. "That looks disgusting."

"Vodka poisoning? Is that as bad as Onion Pizza halitosis?" Wally asked, half disappointed that this was not 'Piranha Man' after all or something else more exciting than Bruce's gala....also because he was still stuck with all of these fish egg things.

"Just as bad."

"Man, that's tough."

John had given him hell for passing out in the Green Lantern's Watchtower room after indulging in a binge of Xtra Onion topping pizzas. Wally had apologized by cleaning out the apartment air using his arms as turbo fans....which had driven the smell right into the vicinity of...well, the entire outside hallway. Which had just happened to be where Superman and Batman had been passing through at that moment. Superman, naturally--the lucky stiff with all the neat-o powers except for _really_ running fast (and was that fair?) _Superman_---had been immune to all weapons of mass destruction not glowing green. Batman? Well, it seemed the Dark Terror of the Night was as subject to the ruinous effect of onions as any regular mortal.

Amazingly enough, he had no onion fume repellent in that bat belt of his. Apparently, even Batman's Wally-instigated-disaster preparatory skill had it's limits.

Of course, Wonder Woman had happened by next, taken a quickie stock of the situation, and immediately threatened everyone with violence for making Batman cry like Batman was John and Di had suddenly sprouted wings or something...until she'd spotted _him_ that is. (So much for due process and trials. It was more like innocent until proven _Wally_ and--never mind Superman---was _that_ fair?) The direness of her snarls had lasted for all of five seconds before she realized...._Batman _was crying. (Signifying that Wally wasn't always the slowest one of the League when it came to processing an uptake.) Well, everyone knew that Batman actually _crying_ was a flat impossibility so Wally guessed she was in her rights to have taken so long to register that fact and to look dumbfounded at the sight. Which had started a discussion about the stupidity of ordering and eating onion pizzas in an enclosed space and onions as legitimate biological weapons--sort of culinary hand grenades---which should be banned by the United Nations. All of which would have been fine if Wally hadn't also been trying to evade Batarangs at the same time as participating in the discourse.

To give Bruce his due, he had an amazing sense of aim even when half blinded by water-logged white eye lenses.

(Truly the man's alter ego was well named.)

The upshot to all of this was that the pain had necessitated Wally needing a few strong drinks---purely for medicinal purposes---because batarangs hurt like nobody's business even if that ear antennae had possibly saved his life. Plus, severe tinnitus should be considered enough to get you off of monitor duty because how were you supposed to concentrate on anything if your ear was still ringing with sympathetic vibrations and he _got_ that he wasn't a Lantern with a fancy ring so it wasn't like he was totally incapacitated, but _still_.

So, yeah, vodka poisoning was something he could find it in his heart to empathize with.

Hassex looked pained. "Stanley never was good around _free_ liquor. Unfortunately, he was the only union singer I could get for tonight. So I need someone with even a modicum of talent." He pointedly eyed Wally. The speedster gulped.

_Where was Timmy the Wonder Boy who was supposed to be running interference for him? He couldn't get up on stage. What if Alfred or Bruce saw him?_

"Look, Mr...." he glanced at Wally's i.d. badge, "Mr. Barry East. None of the rest of this lot Wayne hired can sing a lick. You say you can. You want to ruin Mr. Wayne's party? He could blacklist us. Everybody could lose their jobs and we got families. Little kids. You want that those little kids should end up in cardboard condos?"

"Well, no," Wally gulped, "but I'm not exactly union..."

The man stared at him for a moment, produced a form, signed it and passed Wally a slip of paper that looked like an Honorary Union Member I.O.U. "You are now."

"But--?"

"Kids in Cardboard Condos."

_ Sheesh, you can put a monkey suit on a superhero, but underneath was still all the colorful get-ups and savior complexes sublimely attracting trouble. So much for keeping a low profile._

"It's just a few songs, Mr. East. That should hold us until dinner when I think I can get a relief singer in--or this crowd gets drunk enough not to care either way and riot on you by throwing..." he glanced at the platter, "whatever that stuff is."

"Okay." _First order of business--spike the punch bowls. _"Just so you know, I've never sung professionally."

"Most of the attendees here look half deaf anyway. Look, if you can sing simple things like a decent Moon River we're saved."

"No problem."_ Moon what?_

_

* * *

A/N: I'm re-reading my trade book Race Against Time: Wally World segment and...Wally does claim one of his talents as making balloon animals. Must have remembered that subconsciously since it's been a year since read that book.  
_


	6. Schmoozing

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable...sizable chunks of names/places/ect are owned by such places as DC, Paramount, yadda, yadda. If I ever own anything...I'll let you know. As soon as the shock of it wears off.

_Underline problem appears to be fixed._

_Wow...Adobe Flash installed and can finally see those chart things FFN touts. There are people voluntarily reading this from the Eastern Hemisphere? Now I fear for the entire Earth and not just U.S/Canada. 0.0 (On reflection, there's something perverse about the fact that these stories get to go global trotting while I'm stuck to a twenty-mile radius of the planet.)  
_

* * *

Chapter 6: Schmoozing

Wally tried to dig his heels in a bit at the same time attempting to spot Tim or...um...well; okay, _Drake_ was his only potential ally here, but plains-clothed Robin was nowhere in sight and Mr. _Hassle_ with the iron grip was hell bent on dragging him to the stage for his debut execution. (That's correct-_execution_-being as far as the hapless hero was concerned he might as well be on his way to the gallows like in A Tale of Two Cities. _Yeah, that's right, smarty pants-he'd read some of the classics! Okay, the Cliff Notes version, but it was the same plot, right?)_

Moon River...moon river...what kind of song was that? Sounded like something B.J. (Before Jagger) of _pre_-The Rolling Stones Age. Possibly Ante-_'deluge'-_ian as well (or whatever that fancy word was for Aquaman's dream world where there were none of the likes of detestable _air breathers. Arthur Curry (publicly known as Aquaman; privately known as The Gilled Grump) loved all but the ending of "__that Bible tale with the guy who built the unlicensed fat boat and gathered all the paired-up animals."_ Personally, Wally disliked the story of Noah And The Flood. It was proof that even a turtle could get a date with a willing partner and a free cruise ride in before a global calamity struck, but could a (literally) dashing superhero get a gratis kiss from a super babe when the sun had nearly gone snuff-o?

'Course not-nope.

_Moon River._

The only thing close to a 'moon river' Wally could think of was that time with Dick (Robin The Boy Wonder V.1), Roy (Speedy), and Garth (Aqualad) when they were just kids and had decided to kill time swimming in the Potomac while their esteemed mentors (Flash, Batman, Green Arrow, and Aquaman) had been called to an important Justice League crisis meeting-or something similar-that unsullied children shouldn't have to worry about because (to paraphrase his deceased mentor) they were like _"pure of mind"_ (or some such nonsense) and didn't need to hear about controversies regarding the craftsmanship of Amazonian battle armor versus modern Western Civilization decency standards.

(Yes, yes-Barry had been great and Wally missed him terribly, but the man had apparently forgotten _loads_ of stuff upon becoming an adult as Flash had known _scant_ about the realities of male children. In point of fact, the practicality of Wonder Woman's attire were of vast importance to Wally and his friends; it generated all sorts of interesting speculation on _just how little it could __attire_ while still being considered_ practical to the Amazons_. And did the Amazonian 'no men' rule apply to kids? This last was because Roy had been certain that Garth could get them there...for further investigation of their theories, you know? Roy nearly had Garth convinced to take them to Paradise Island too seeing as Garth's personal theory about red-haired male air breathers having an unusually high interest in "the flying fish and sting rays part of Nature" (as he put it) was still in dispute and what better way to judge then to watch his companions drooling over an island of perfectly formed air-breathing females?)

Wally had never realized until just then how _brilliant_ Roy and Garth could be.

It was a damn shame J'onn had been listening in and put the nix on their excursion idea by suggesting rather strongly that they keep their investigations to studying the native _non-homo-sapien_ wildlife of the U.S. capitol area...preferably within grabbing range by their mentors-better make that _Roy's_ mentor as the other two had a pretty extensive range-lest they cause an international incident and "the whole planet ends up consumed in some sort of juvenile-hormone created conflagration of the level of Sol going nova."

Anyway, the choice of swimming in the Potomac had naturally been Garth's idea-although Wally, Roy, and Dick had been willing enough to bare their (pale) skin and (almost-_if you squinted_) Atlas-muscled physiques. In fact they'd been indulging in innocently showing off to their peers (of the other sex) until some snobby jerks with United Nations protected status had arrived and promptly made fun of Garth. Well, you didn't make fun of Fish Stick unless you were a friend, so Roy suggested they display their displeasure by moving the back section of their swim trunks 'round the bend' while facing the other way (because that was the thing to do when you weren't supposed to indulge in fisticuffs...yet name calling was just too lame a response for upholding Gill Head's honor. It was like _"turning the other cheek"_ Roy had explained to a confused mer-boy, a smirking Bat Kid, and a hesitant speedster _"and what did Wally know about it to be shaking his head so? Twinkle-toes had grown up in the sticks with the most square personalities this side of Big 'S' Blue!"_ Well, could Wally counter that? Nope. Suffice it that for a moment there the Potomac could indeed have been christened as _'Moon River_'...just before it became a fight zone of such proportions that if there hadn't been a Justice League crisis meeting already in progress before that there surely had been afterward. It had even made the evening news:

_Boisterous Boys Busted After Belligerently Baring Behinds: JLA steps in to contain volatile international incident. In other news scientist claims sun nearly went nova.  
_

Green Arrow had been supportive and given them a thumbs up once Roy had smoothly insisted it was in the interest of "free speech, artistic expression, and minority rights."

_Lucky Roy with the liberal for a mentor._

Aquaman had merely cursed all land breathers as being imbeciles leading his impressionable heir astray before hauling Garth off by a pointed ear._ He'd probably gotten off with just being banned from using the family whale for joy riding.  
_

Somehow, neither _Batman_ nor _The __Flash_ had been particularly pleased with their protégés first attempt at a non-violent and peaceful-type demonstration for species tolerance. Or the after effect thereof. In fact...

Wally winced at the memory.

Man, Barry sure had held some funny notions about propriety and logic and _'thinking__ first before doing something stupid such as listening to Roy_'. Like how it was _decidedly not_ okay to partially undress before the bad guys and gain a few misspent-youth contusions...but it was perfectly fine and dandy to bare one's caboose for a paddling and earn more bruises on that specific part of one's anatomy? Justice had been severely lacking in the League that day as far as Dick and Wally were concerned. Was it any wonder they formed the Teen Titans soon after that and voted down the use of anything that even remotely required a paddle be they ping pong or kayaks? Just thinking about it all brought the ache back to his rear asset...

Wait-a-sec_-the pain wasn't just a memory..._

_Did somebody just pinch his tush?_

_(Not that he didn't pride himself on maintaining a nicely shaped...)_

_Argh. Disengage Ego! Put Brain in gear before attempting to drive!  
_

* * *

Whirling around with the intent of giving someone the what-for, Wally spotted one of the most sultry ladies he'd ever seen this side of Themiscyra during their Swimsuit Contest Day. (Not that he'd been there for that. _Officially. That anyone could prove._ At least he didn't think they could as he still had all important organs in their correct alignments.)

Sultry Lady was wearing two things: a naked leer and one slinky black evening gown that went right along with the first to the point of making Wonder Woman' armor look downright chaste.

Who was this Hot Babe and how did she get past the Fuddy-Duddy Verification Check Point Police at the guest entrance?

_Possibly because the guards were busy suffering from cardiac arrest which was pretty understandable and thank goodness I heal fast._

Sultry Lady had managed to snag one of his caviar crackers while he'd been in La-La-Land and was making quite a show of enjoying it while all the while ogling him.

_Ew...how could anyone enjoy that stuff...and at the same time who cared that her tastebuds were dead when the rest of her was so...so..._

_Not dead._

Wally blushed and was suddenly extra annoyed at the pushy Mr. Hassex who refused to let go of his arm so he could practice some good old-fashioned American patriotism and go pursue some happiness.

Hassex deposited him at the edge of the orchestra. The band owner grinned at him, pointing at the conductor-who looked rather flustered upon seeing this _kid_ his agent had foisted on him. "I'm going to get you set up, East-should only take a few minutes. Just don't go far, okay? Remember-"

Wally almost rolled his eyes at the Hassex's blatant and rather pathetic attempt at blackmail. Heck, he'd been threatened by the best: Darkseid, Brainiac, Rogues, J'onn, Shay, John, Supes, Batman, The Internal Revenue Service, Hippolyta, New Gods, Old Gods, those Hell's Angels whose bikes had gotten caught up in his jet stream... It was nothing new.

"Do the Hari-Kiri Karaoke or it's plastic bag curtains for the kids in cardboard boxes. Yeah, I got it, Piranha Man."

"Uh...great." Blinking away his confusion at the nicknames, Hassex gave Wally a slap on the back. "Hang tight. I'll be back asap."

"Take your time. I'll just...hang."

And talk to myself.

* * *

_Dangling from the end of a rope...that pretty much does sum it all up._

_Shut up, Brain.  
_

_I wonder if Moon River is dangerous and what the fatality rate is? Lot's of rivers are dangerous. People drowned in them. I'm going to choke and drown, aren't I? No I'm not. I'm a superhero just like Superman! (Well, we were both raised in the corn belt anyway.) I can do this. Singing in front of a crowd is really just like singing to yourself, which is just like running...only using your mouth instead of your feet. I'm good at using both. By golly, I'm even good at multitasking the two together:_

_Foot-in-Mouth Flash The Fastest Fiasco Alive._

_No, no-stop being so pessimistic, Brain. I'm good. Even J'onn says I'm gifted because I can run off at the mouth all the time even when I'm not actually opening it. Not many other super heroes have that kind of talent. Heck, I'm a Creative Thinker! So this should be easy like a piece of cake...Let them eat cake...Marie Antoinette...Tale of Two Cities...__Guillotine...Grisly, bloody scene...  
_

_Doomed._

* * *

Up in the Watchtower Monitor Room, bucket of movie popcorn in hand:

_'Actually, Wallace, I meant 'gifted' like something foisted off on others because nobody in their right mind would actually pay for it.'_

_*munch, munch*  
_

_

* * *

_Scratching the back of his head, Wally watched the orchestra try to orchestrate around this mess-because it was clear that the conductor thought Hassex was making a mistake in trusting an unknown. Wally couldn't blame the man. He sure the heck didn't trust himself not to muff this.

With a fateful sigh the speedster mentally started ticking off all the people he was to keep an eye out for: Hassex, because he'd promised the man he'd 'save the children' and right now he was more worried about his own skin; Tim, to get him out of here with some inspired Bat Kid excuse; Alfred and/or Bruce,since if he was caught here humiliation would be the least of his worries since he wouldn't put it past Batman to keep some kind of foldable Batpaddle in his utility belt-one ominously engraved with the Flash logo: the self-same disciplinary instrument The Bat had threatened he'd manufacture that horrible time Wally had impulsively purchased and brought to a Founder's meeting a Batman-Head Pez Stick Dispenser which he'd jokingly commanded in front of everyone to "cough 'em up, Batz!" while jiggling the container so as to feed himself the candies from said stick.

It was really sad how Batman had no sense of fun.

And scary.

_Mainly_ scary.

Especially with the gruesome fate of the dispenser.

_Uh oh._

The speedster's peripheral vision caught that same lady again, making carnivore eyes at him. Wally quickly turned to face the other way only to be reminded that he was still holding a platter of dead fish babies on rye when one egg of which flew off and headed like a squishy, guided, cannon ball for a polished shoe.

Naturally enough-Bruce Wayne's shoe.

_Oh god._

* * *

[Watchtower: Monitor Room]

_*sounds of munching on chocos*_

_(Scratch that.)  
_

_*sounds of choking on chocos*_

_"Oh gods."_

* * *

Standing near the orchestra, Bruce could have sworn he'd seen someone he recognized as an unwanted element-when he'd sensed activity near his right foot. He looked down and saw nothing amiss-unless you counted one of the servers crouched down by his knee holding a single pickled roe in his fingers. Eyes submissively kept hooded, the server adjusted his spectacles and offered Bruce a sickly smile. "Eh...Señor Wayne?" He placed the roe back on a cracker-for all the world reminding Bruce of a kid caught red handed at the cookie jar and about to go into detail about how he was just testing texture variances.

_(Not that Bruce had ever done such a thing._

_That he was willing to recall...because the -glare- that Alfred had given him..._)

Was the fellow stealing from the platter meant for the guests? Bruce frowned upon thievery-even the petty variety. Also, something about the dark-haired man was...familiar despite the atrocious attempt at a Latin accent. He was half inclined to confront the probable thief, but suddenly the financier who had for the last ten minutes cornered him on investment portfolios got more insistent that Bruce listen to him about the _economic stability of Mars Bars stocks versus Lightning Speed ones and wasn't it terrible how today's youth didn't know what they were doing because things were always spiraling out of control whenever you turned your back on them for a moment?_

Which was somewhat odd as they'd previously been discussing the merits of gold versus silver.

When he'd looked up to agree with the suddenly unhinged financier, the caviar server was already gone from sight.

Wayne's eyes narrowed with annoyance for all of a moment before the playboy mask was back in place. He'd track down the man later and give him a talking to before either calling the police for a pick-up or firing him.

* * *

From his hiding place behind the cymbalist, Wally took a deep breath to calm his jittery nerves.

Man, that had been close! The level of close they touted in those shaving commercials with the little animated segments of hairs being cut off like sinners by the Grim Reaper during that _Sam Wayne*_ thing (and didn't it figure that Batz had a relative who'd invented Halloween?) Not that he was against Halloween. Sure, to a costumed hero dressing up as someone else was not considered a special treat, but there was candy galore just for the asking (at times like that being mistaken for a juvenile was a good thing) and-oh the parties with the food and the music and the games, and the sugary food and the _food_ and more sugary food and-!

Weren't parties supposed to be fun?

_Party._

_Currently in progress, you twit. (Oh nonononono...Conscience was awake and scowling and-it was so unfair that not only did he at times have comm difficulties with his Brain, but his Conscience's snide voice had taken on all the qualities of GL's. Why couldn't it have been Shayera? He stood a chance of sweet-talking Shay. John was just...merciless. Well, no...Batz was merciless. John was...drill-sergeant stern. Batz made you want to run and hide; John made you do bench presses.)_

_Party.  
_

_One he had to sing for...if not for his own supper, then for those of little kids who didn't want to be contemplating the daily offering of artichokes from paper-product domiciles because adults of all levels and powers for some reason thought spiky plants and fish eggs were nutritious and edible while Hostess Cupcakes were not. You know, that meant that whole "you are what you eat" thing ran true because Wally knew how to voice Zingers and had a soft sweet soul in his center while Bruce was all about exuding fat-free prickliness.  
_

_Ugh! Pay attention! (Glowing-Green 'John' Conscious smacked Wandering 'Wally' Brain across the back of his head...self.) Alfred said a good manservant always ascertains the needs of his employer and delivers without needing to be consulted for everything. Think of people as cars. Observe. Diagnose. Find any problems and fix them promptly and without getting the oil and the anti-freeze confused this time._

_Wandering Brain considered giving Conscious the figurative finger, but decided against it because they were roomies after all and Conscious could get really vindictive when it wanted and do stuff like hiding the over PG-13 rated daydream videos._

_Wally sighed and figured it was time to get it in gear before the rest of his mental Justice League showed up to side with John.  
_

Per the usual (from his point-of-view), people were slowly enunciating conversations as if the words were stuck in their throats and had to be pried loose syllable by precious syllable. Wally forced himself to be patient and listen. If he could get a feel of what these well-pursed older folk were enthused enough to talk about, maybe he could come up with some music to sing that hadn't been recorded on a Victrola.

* * *

"Truly? No, but who could pass up the opportunity to network with Wayne's crowd? The _financial _gains..."

"Not that I care enough to notice _your_ business, but didn't you wear those same shoes _yesterday_, darling?"

"Is that Jonathan? I have this _terrific_ merger proposal I want to-"

"So I told Anastasia, I said, _New York_ was good enough at times, but nothing can beat Paris for _real_ haute couture-"

"Excuse me, waiter? But those beauties look succulent. I'd like to taste them."

"My broker swears its on the up and up. I'm going to make a _killing_-"

"Didn't we see you at Pearl's? With that _woman_ who looked like a prostitute...?"

* * *

Yow. Were these people associates of Bruce Wayne's or from his minor Rogue Gallery? Captain Cold had a sunnier disposition and Digger could use some of those insults to sharpen his bladed boomerangs.

If this was how they treated their peers, they were going to pick his self-esteem clean off his bones after he was done with his stint. Was failing to please an audience grounds for public stoning in Gotham?

Hassex gave him a 'three minutes' signal. Wally tried to look enthusiastic about that.

Failed miserably.

_Three minutes to live and (he glanced at his serving platter) not even a last meal._

_Okay, songs that might go down well here. Maybe Money, Money, Money by ABBA? Or Madonna's Material Girl? He hummed a few bars of the latter.  
_

_'We live in a material world...'_

_Conscience smacked him again right out of the blue._

_Now what? Had he missed something else that 'John' had caught? He hit the rewind button on Short-Term Memory.  
_

"prostitute a like looked who woman that with Pearl's at you see we didn't killing a make to going I'm up and up the on its swears broker my them taste to like I'd succulent look beauties those but waiter me excuse-"

_There! A woman's voice asking a question. Replay!_

'Excuse me, waiter? But those green beauties look succulent. I'd like to taste them.'

His peripheral vision quickly pinpointed the speaker of that particular line.

_Oh wow. It was that seductress again!_ Wally suppressed a mental groan even as his concupiscence gave a 'fukYEAH!' cheer. Now was not the time for -that- level of distraction. He needed to think about songs not...well, lets just say he needed to be able to -think- period. Maybe Conscience would cut him some slack under the circumstances and he could go on pretending he hadn't heard her even if that would be rude and un-manservant like?

*whack*

_'Damn it.'  
_

"Waiter?"

Plastering a congenial smile onto his face, Wally turned to offer the woman the appetizers on his tray. At least this minx sounded like she was just interested in having her face fed and not her bank account or ego and there would still be plenty of time to come up with songs after he'd done this domestic duty. He'd think of something.

Hey, dumb luck was usually on his side!

_

* * *

(Up in the Watchtower a lone Martian muttered: 'That explains why it was called 'dumb'.)  
_

* * *

Smiling politely, Wally shifted position so as to better offer the lady one of the hors d'oeuvre on his tray: "Why, good evening, miss. These are imported from the finest fish coops of coastal Siberia. Would you like to try one?" _(They were called fish coops, right? I mean, they're eggs and chickens lay eggs and they live in coops where the hens are happy and I bet the sole rooster is even happier.)_

The woman's fingers skittered over the tray, but to his surprise did not pick up anything.

"As much as I simply adore aquatic fare, I was actually referring to the the other imports." Her hand continued forward until an index finger fitted under Wally's chin before she lifted off his glasses. She shamelessly stared him right in his face. "What mother gave birth to such fine succulents? They're so...feline." Wally gulped at her naked appraisal of his eyes, trying desperately not to start vibrating because her voice was...it was like warm honey on ice cream just dripping with gooey flavor and...his legs refused to move...and...

Crud.

Beautiful women were his kryptonite.

_

* * *

_

_'Woo! Woo! Woo!_

_Imminent hull breach, Keptin!_

_Sir, the feminine bombardment is sweeping aside Personal Restraint shields!_

_Hull breach, sir! Hormones are flooding the lower compartments and rising!  
_

_Communications are down, Captain! I can't send or receive anything but static!  
_

_Emergency Expendable Red Blood Cell detail on the double, Mr. Chekov! Uhura, get Communications back up, pronto!  
_

_Keptin, the Red Suits are on strike pending a review into hazardous conditions compensation!_

_Dammit! I'm being trampled by exclamation points! Mr. Scott-get us the hell out of here!  
_

_Sair, Warp Speed is offline! The Metabolism Engines are hit! (Me poor wee bairns!)  
_

_ Let's worry about the miniature cowsheds later, Scotty! Damn, damn, damn-why can't I think?  
_

_Captain, hormonal inundation has flooded the main computer. Intelligent thought processing is down by fifty percent and falling steadily._

_No shit! Mr. Scott, get those metabolism systems back online! We've got to flush out these hormones! Everyone, man the buckets! Bail! Bail! Bail!_

_Captain, I may have communications back online!'  
_

_

* * *

_

'Excuse me?'

Wally's voice squeaked like Mickey Mouse's would while holding dangerous experiments with helium balloons. At least the blush was diverting blood flow from other places.

Wait! That hadn't been his voice! In fact, his question had come out sounding more like...

The wheezy noise sounded again.

Oh crud! The femme fatale had laid her other hand on his breast. (Pocket! Breast _pocket!_) Where his security device was hidden. Well, not a 'device' so much as a...

Her eyes held some confusion as she prodded the spot again.

*Squee-quwak*

"What _is_ that noise?"

"It's-nothing!" Wally hurriedly blurted out because if this babe saw-

But she already had her hand into his jacket, fishing an object out. Wally couldn't help but vibrate some more both from embarrassment and because..well, a hot chick had her hand under his clothes! (Okay, just his jacket pocket, but-_still!_)

"Oh my..." the lady giggled. "Is this a...?"

"Yeah, so you found FlashDucky. What of it?" Wally was really blushing crimson now, hoping like hell that nobody else was watching. "Just...it's kind of a good luck charm, you know?" He hastily placed it back in it's 'nest'.

"Why was..._FlashDucky_...wearing a Batman cape?"

(Why did people always zero in on the awkward questions?)

"He was feeling insecure?"

"So your good luck charm needs a security blanket? That's adorable," Sultry Lady stroked his jacket over the small lump, the predatory gleam abating from her eyes as a bit of softness took over. "_You're_ adorable...like a wide-eyed kitten peeking out at a new world and not quite sure what to make of it." The calculating look returned to her eyes. "Name your offer," she purred, "I'm sure I can meet your price, Ginger." Her other hand started reaching towards him and _not_ in the direction of the caviar.

Not the kind from Siberia, anyway.

Seriously, Wally was the Fastest Man Alive and was a bit territorial about it. He never felt comfortable when someone tried to move faster than he did. That kind of confrontation usually meant the need to challenge the other to a race to support his claim. However, when it had to do with dominance in matters of flirting? More times than not the terrain under his feet got all misaligned-potholed. Lust was now playing musical chairs with Disgruntlement and a not a little bit of Uncertainty bordering on Fear. In his experience, dominant women were as like to beat you to a pulp after you kissed them. Dominant women were nice to look at, but unsafe to hold...like nitro. One wrong move and-ka-blammo!-Samson was trying on baseball caps while Delilah primped her new hair extensions.

Also, no man wanted to be compared to a baby animal.

_'A kitten?' _Wally fumed with growing indignity._ 'He was not a kitten! Kittens were fluffy balls of cuteness with an uncanny ability to ruin clothing and had to be regularly saved from trees by the likes of Superman! So, okay, he did have a bit of a tendency towards destroyed Flash suits, but did he look like he had to be consistently saved by Superman? Did he?  
_

_Don't answer that, Conscience!_

_'Keep your cool, Wally, keep your cool. Just say no._'

He used a touch of speed in order to evade her questing fingers. "Um...I wasn't aware I was wearing a barcode ticket. Besides, I...don't think my boss would approve of my fraternizing with the company and I really need this job." He frowned, adding, "And-not to question your educational background or color blindness-but it's not 'Ginger'." He pointed at his name badge and black hair dye job.

"Oh? Well then, Mr..." she glanced at the small name tag on Wally's label. "Server: Bartholomew East?" Her chuckle was unpleasantly barbed. "Bartholomew as in the Saint? The patron of tanners?" She tapped Wally on the cheek, letting her fingers run down the olive-toned skin. "Nice bronze job, but I'm afraid you missed some spots. Of course, you'd be more accustomed to handling _body parts_ then knowing how to apply paint, wouldn't you, _Ginger?_ Question is...do you like to tan or _be_ tanned? I'm _very_ good at the latter." Her hand had by this time trailed down his ribs and was moving towards his bum. "In fact, I"m very good..when it comes to being very _bad_."

"Whoa!"

Wally smoothly executed a twist and step back, creating an air gap between them before she could pat it or whatever she'd planned to do. "I'm afraid I've no idea who or what you are referring to. Also, maam, I prefer to go by my nickname...Celibate."

"Bartholomew 'Celibate' East is a bit of a mouthful. We can always have it legally changed. How about 'Boy Toy'?"

"Nope. But 'Harassment Lawsuit' would fit."

The woman did not look terribly amused by that. Frankly, Wally didn't care. He'd just remembered that Diana had warned him that he should curb his libido because female demons were real and right now Wally didn't doubt her word. What did she call them? Suck-A-Bus? Ancient cultures sure had overly long and very weird names for things. Maybe because ancient times had been so boring before iPods? At any rate, this gal was really setting off his Flashie sense: making him tingle all over from apprehension. He gave her a cold stare to hide his nervousness, hoping she'd get the hint and lay off be she a human female or card-carrying member of some Sisterhood of Evil.

From the look on her face Sultry Lady-turned-Suck-A-Bus didn't take rejection well. Crud. But as long as she didn't start spewing and throwing hellfire, he could deal.

"It seems there's been a bit of a misunderstanding, Ginger. See, I sometimes have dealings in the Midwest. Police business? Sometimes I get bored and do a bit of casing...er..._people watching._ _Sometimes_ someone even catches my eye more than the others. Everyone has a price, Mr. _West_."

Wally swallowed. She was bluffing. She had to be. Wally West was a nobody pretty much everywhere. "It's _East_."

"Oh? Must have been a slip of the tongue. Dangerous things those." She moved in closer than ever in order to whisper into his ear. "I understand that employment is such a haphazard affair for the working class poor in Keystone...particularly those in the mechanics field. I wouldn't count on your current employer for future paychecks, though. You're soon to be freshly between jobs if I say one word to Mr. Wayne. I'm rather good at things like that, and you've managed to ruffle my fur. Do we understand each other, _Gingerbread Man_?"

"Look, I don't want any-mmmph!"

What happened next was not totally the speedster's fault as by this time he was half convinced that this was indeed a succubus from the pits of Hell come to torment him; and they do say that for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction.

Taken aback by suddenly being grabbed by the seat of his pants and enthusiastically kissed, Wally reacted without thinking by slamming his tray against the side of the her head. Well, 'slammed' might be overstating the severity of the blow, but there was an undeniable connection between the silver platter and salon-coiffed tresses. Caviar flew like buckshot, pelting several other patrons as the alleged she-demon went down.

"Let-go-of-my-ass, you, succubus fiend! I said no!" Nervous coughs peppered the immediate vicinity, defusing Wally's ire just long enough for him to notice the sea of upper society staring in his direction.

'Uh oh.'

Between causing a disruption at Bruce's party and hitting a woman, Wally was pretty certain that he was at the very least going to be permanently erased from even Superman's Holiday Gift Exchange list and that those dribble glasses might have been the best gift option after all.

* * *

_A/N: Sam Wayne*: In case you didn't get it, Wally meant 'Samhain' which was an ancient Celt holiday held on November 1st. It's pronounced Sow-in or similar, but to American eyes looks like it would be "SamHayne". Sam Hayne/Sam Wayne... Eh... This IS Wally West I am channeling. No offense intended by either of us.  
_


	7. Cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

A/N: I own everything here that DC wouldn't want to own up to. Eh...except the song lyrics. Well, excepting the _exception_ of the upcoming ones I filk (parody.) And the stuff that DC obviously doesn't own like Captain Marvel insinuations and Red Dye #7.

_Just figure like I do that I don't own anything of financial or pop culture importance and we should both be fine._

.

I tried looking up Alfred's bio, but couldn't find any info on his eye color. Since I have a vague recollection of them looking pale during those scenes in Starcrossed...I went with gray. Feel free to notify me if that's wrong so I can fix it. Unless I actually edited out that part already and forgot to fix this a/n. That happens as I'm a rabid last-second-_and-beyond_ editor.

DAMN IT, FFN...FIX THE &%#! EDITOR TO ACCEPT DASHES ALREADY! I'm getting tired of having to make due with purely ... and () of late. Severely cramping my Flash muse. Flash is _meant_ to be dashing!

* * *

Kinetics 7: Cat's in the Cradle and the Silver Spoon, Little Boy Blue and the Man In the Moon...

.

Naturally, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennysworth just had to be quick on the scene.

(Was the man a closet speedster?)

For a moment Wally feared that the piercing scrutiny of his mentor would enable the butler to see right through the nigh impeccable disguise of 'Mr. Bartholomew East'. (This induced a moment of fervent prayer on Wally's part that Alfred was not part Kryptonian (which _would_ do a lot toward explaining the speed of his arrival.) As far as he was concerned, Pennysworth already had eyes in the back of his head so it did not seem far-fetched that Alfred might possess x-ray vision as well. Wally didn't care what anyone said...that man had _powers beyond the 'normal' scale!_ For that matter, so did Bruce...he was just super-sneaky at hiding them from everyone. Heck, for all the League knew the whole lot of the Bat Clan were alien cops sent to Earth to watch for potential super felons who might one day threaten their home planet's supremacy. Tim and Dick were the 'good cops' while Alfred and Bruce were the 'bad cops'. The Bat Scowl was a defense mechanism meant to dissuade the curious from getting too close and exposing their cover. Sort of like that Notice-Me-Not thing the TARDIS had on Doctor Who...and _there_ was something to speculate on because the Doctor knew everything and didn't _that_ remind you of someone? Not that he would. (Well, he wouldn't if he could recall _just what it was that he wouldn't_ because now he was just confused about what his mind had started thinking on in the first place, but seemed to have lost track of.)

_'I need an experienced mental secretary with a master's degree in filing thoughts.'

* * *

_

Watchtower:

_"Good luck finding one willing to take on that level of extremely hazardous conditions."

* * *

_

Besides, Wally thought, if he dwelt on stuff like alien invaders too much he'd start sporting a blue fedora and removing aglets from his laces which might add suspicion that he knew something he shouldn't. Then Batz would morph into RoboCop and haul his ass to the nearest Saturnine penitentiary where they turned asteroids into minus-grade pea gravel in order to keep Saturn's front yard decor looking more rad than Jupiter's paint job because Saturninians was sort of jealous of Jupiter's bigger size and that was their way of maintaining their rep as the coolest looking planet in the solar system.

It was sort of like Turf Wars: The Planetary Edition.

(Personal note: add laces to my Flash boots so alien cops can see I'm not worried about aglets and stop watching so much science fiction and YouTube documentaries put out by user: 'The?'.)

Besides, being so intent on their duty surely the Bat Clan were more tolerant of some of humanity's misdemeanor leanings and would not be sending exuberant speeders to work busting asteroids down to pebbles in the Asteroid Belt...so as long as he didn't call more attention to himself than necessary he should be okay.)

Alfred's scowling gray eyes latched onto him.

(Hopefully. Because it was severely doubtful that Shayera would loan him her mace for a 50-Saturninian year stint at masonry work.)

* * *

The butler's lips may have tightened in disapproval when they fell on 'Mr. East', but in fact Alfred was distracted by other considerations then a petrified server worried about getting meteorite dust under his fingernails; in truth it was only a passing glance that he visited over everyone within the vicinity of the _mishap_. As manservant of Wayne Manor his first priority was assessing the victims of the caviar bombardment and smoothing any distress that had been incurred. Most of the guests looked merely stunned and a little annoyed to find pickled roes attached to their designer clothing. Well...Master Bruce's hospitality reputation would remain well-looked upon if his manservant had anything to say on the matter.

"May I be of service?"

* * *

An undignified clamor started up at his polite inquiry, but Alfred seemed to keep his calm despite it. Wally suspected that from the inside Alfred was assigning derogatory names to each and every one of them, but outwardly the butler was the soul of remorse over their plight. (He decided right there that if Alfred had not chosen to masquerade as a manservant of Earth, then the alien cop would have made an excellent government employee.) It was both inspiring and daunting to watch. Some profuse apologies _here_, liberal flattery _there_, and a promise to reimburse the cost of their attire was sufficing to mollify everyone. The level of Manservant Mastery going on before his eyes sure looked a lot harder to attain than running really fast though.

(Aliens had it so easy what with their natural-born abilities, Wally sighed. They didn't even have to get theirs via being fried by a lightning storm that had left hair prone towards the frizzies for weeks afterward. Unfortunately this event had happened about a few years before the Afro became _big_ so he'd been a bit ahead of his time for that -thankfully- short-lived fashion mistake. Not that looking like he had a giant peach growing around his head would have helped his popularity any...although it had almost landed him a starring role in Miss Kettlefish's artwork for the Blue Valley County Fair recruitment poster. _Almost,_ because Manny Housengam had that accident with his sister's hair dryer, the blond dye, and the super-hold hair spray the night before the audition which won him that coveted spot as well as fame and fortune in The Kansas County Fair Banana Parade's main float. (Yes, that would be the one named On The Dole.)

Meanwhile Wally couldn't even get his personal county fair exhibit entry attempt (a lousy bean sprout) to brave topping the soil surface of a Styrofoam cup. Of course back then it had been postulated that the plant world held rudimentary feelings.

Maybe his 'peach' Afro had intimidated it?

* * *

(Up in the Watchtower, J'onn consigned the rest of his peach/banana cobbler into the refuse bin with a sigh and reached for the Martian equivalent of Pepto Bismo.

But back to Alfred and his awesome ability to schmooze and mollify that was making Wally feel jealous.)

* * *

All-in-all, Wally was starting to think he was never going to make a good manservant as he was just too outclassed by the maestro. Although it must be said that the speedster wasn't without his own experience with apologizing to multiple persons over a single incident. Why, just last month...

* * *

_Apology #1__:_

_"Sheesh, I'm sorry I was dreaming about Duck Dodgers non-stop last night, Marvin...I mean, J'onn. It won't happen again. No, no, I don't hold any racial stereotypes against aliens. Uh...can I borrow the Acme Earth Blaster Cannon you keep hidden in that simulated yodeler get-up to get rid of the roaches at my place? You don't?" *whew* "Just checking!_

_...Well, you don't have to get all bent out of shape about it."_

_Apology #2__:_

_"Sheesh, I'm sorry I picked the neon green cans from the Paint Emporium to spruce up the Monitor Room, Supes! It was their half-off special offer of the day. How was I to know they were a subsidiary of LexCorp? I thought the name was in honor of your dog or something. It won't happen again. By the way, someone called L.L sent you a get well card...I didn't know Hallmark made lead envelopes...must be to keep the card from getting damaged in the mail. Want me to open it for you seeing as you're in a full-body anti-toxin wrap? Hey, no trouble at all, Supes...oh look..they sent a 'notice of regret' and a free paint sample; maybe we misjudged them? Wow...they make 'Krypto Night' paint in blue as well as green with a red coming out this summer. I'd love to see the red for my place. You should use this blue in your room, Supes. It looks real serene. See, it even brought a dopey smile to your face."_

_Apology #3__:_

_"Sheesh, I'm sorry I brought over Kara's cat, Shay. But she asked me...well, 'threatened' rather...with watching over it while she was gone to Beetle Juice or some such place. 'Fluffy' was just so lonely at my apartment and I thought you'd like it for company while I was on Monitor Duty even if Ralph insisted I was wrong... on second thought I should have probably fed it first before I dropped it off in the vicinity you were sleeping in, huh? Or asked if it was homicidal towards things with feathers. On the funny side, it sure is appropriately named now, isn't it? W'reck room? Heh. Get it?_

_What'dya mean that if it was so fond of feathers it should have attacked my head first? That was uncalled...okay! It won't happen aga...urk..."_

_Apology #4__:_

_"Sheesh, I'm sorry I used your lasso as a clothesline, Wondy! Only, I lost a bet with Ralph and it was the only rope I could find that was long enough to handle a month's load of Elastic Man's laundry what with the Watchtower laundromat being broken. Oh...that's 'cause I sorta kinda tried to use it to mix up some concrete to patch up this hole in the recreational room that I sorta maybe was responsible for. Honestly, I swore I put the stuff in the washing machine and not the dryer. Guess I should have asked you or Shay first, you know?_

_Well, don't women understand domestic stuff better than guys do? Uh...Wondy Babe? I don't think spaghetti spoons-were-deshwined-fah-thesh-echshack-pupash."_

_Apology #5__:_

_"Sheesh, I'm sorry I brought you the wrong suitcase, GL! It won't happen again...and Green Arrow promised to mail yours back tomorrow. Hey, at least it's all green and not some other color, so turn that frown upside-down and count your blessings. I could have grabbed Red Arrow's instead, you know. Anyway, thanks a heap for coming with me on this road trip until they lift the ban on my being in the Watchtower or anywhere within a thousand miles of the East Coast of North America. Er...GL? You know with that (um...no other way to put it) that bald spot that's covering your head, maybe you should consider wearing a hat more often anyway? It isn't? You actually -want- to look like Luthor? Are you pissed off at Supes or something? GL, buddy, I thought that ring was only supposed to glow like that when you were about to attack someone? GL?_

_...Hello, hotel operator? I'm calling long distance to discuss the fine print on tonight's rental agreement and tomorrow's subsequent billing? Does an unforeseen 'most powerful alien weapon in the universe' discharge fall under 'renter liability for damage to hotel property' or 'Act of God'?"_

_Apology #6__:_

_"Sheesh, I'm sorry I painted those raised eyebrow lines and Bambi eyes on your cowl lenses, Batz! You were out like a dark light after that giant baseball I dodged clobbered you and I didn't want anyone to think you were asleep on the job while I took off after Toyman. It won't happen again. But you've got to admit the cowl's more friendly this way. You have no idea how unnerving those plain white slit things are against black. They've been giving me the heebie-jeebies..._

_Oh. You do know? On the plus side...or should that be the ugly side? Two Face was laughing so hard he was easy to nab and install back in his jail cell._

_Okay, okay, already..I'll fix it._

_There, all white again._

_Huh?_

_Crimeny, Batz, what's your beef now?_

_Well, I used some old typewriter white-out on the lenses because they were out of permanent ink remover._

_Man, that's ungrateful...do you know how hard it is to find typewriter white out these days? Anyway, you are The Batman, aren't you? I don't believe there's no sonar gadget in that belt of yours._

_No, I do 'not' do these kinds of things on purpose. You're just overly paranoid._

_You're never going to shake that The Goddamned Batman title if your face freezes that way, Batz._

_Ha! *cough wheeze* Told him I could outrun the Batplane's search and destroy auto option!_

_Freaking hell...silent hypo darts? Good thing the summer heat's softened the road asphalt a...tad...zzzzzz"

* * *

_

Okay, yes...well...

Yeah, Wally had the experience, but Alfred clearly had the talent for sweet talking down mad dogs. _He_ was actually placating everyone.

Oh dear.

_Almost_ everyone.

Every crowd held at least one problem person, it seemed. You know the type? The person who cramped other people's styles. At least that was what John had told him during a heart-to-heart when he'd offered to stay with John and help make conversation when Marie wanted to stay at GL's place for dinner.

Wally figured he'd been talking about Batz because Bruce could be such a wet blanket when he was dressed as the Dark Knight.

It hadn't been a very fun dinner anyway as both seemed more incline to stare at him rather than play Movie Trivia. Could he help it that he was so engaging while poor John just sucked at conversing with a girl?

(Which was probably why John was mad at him.)

The injured guest had fully regaining her feet, looking more surprised than truly hurt. A cunning demeanor replaced even that quickly enough as she smiled craftily at Alfred.

"Alfie, don't bother offering me your meaningless apologies...I want this man fired. No, make that _arrested..._for assault and battery as well as whatever else my lawyer can come up with. In addition, I demand a _personal_ apology from Mr. Wayne for this debacle." She gestured at her gown (and when they say that black shows everything they weren't kidding. Every roe stood out like rhinestones...if rhinestones looked and smelled like dead fish babies.) "My dress is positively ruined and I've more marine-life eggs in my hair than Aquaman." She flipped the right side of hair...sending more imported sturgeon eggs off to rejoin their brethren. "Never in my life have I had to suffer such indignities."

_'Of course you want me fired,' _Wally silently huffed at this unfairness because things had been going so well before _she_ had shown up.

...Comparatively.

Now it was all shot to hell and she wanted him on that particular one-way-ticket space shuttle ride.

_'Arrested? Wouldn't that newspaper heading look grand in the Flash Museum? Besides, I don't like stripes. The Rogues do the busy patterns...I prefer solids. Wonder if a black and white striped Flash jail suit would make me look fat? Demons had lawyers? Well, that's just symbiotic. Oh, and a fallen fiend living in Hell wouldn't have indignities to suffer? That's why it was called Hell, Lady Sucky._'

Alfred was not exactly happy either.

_'Lovely...of course it had to be her.'_

"Ah...Ms. Kyle...I apologize nonetheless for your rather gracefully landing..upon your bum," Alfred dryly began (looking much less concerned now that he saw exactly just who the most 'injured' patron was. "May I add that it is a surprise to see you here? I wasn't aware you were on our guest list. Now Arkham's..." His trailing voice dripped of sarcasm on the last as he certainly had not invited any of Batman's rogue gallery to the gala. Catwoman was more than just an annoyance with a penchant for thievery, though. She held an unhealthy interest in Wayne affairs and even seemed to know his young master's deepest secrets. That made her dangerous even if she had so far kept quiet about it. It was a matter of great consternation to Alfred that Bruce tolerated the situation.

Really, how Master Bruce could carry on about Mr. West's behavior when he let this ocelot into his heart was unfathomable.

"Would you be needing some ice after your unfortunate fall? If I may elucidate, by _'ice'_ I mean the frozen Perrier variety and not those precious stones you are so fond-" He was interrupted by a flustered server who, apparently, was part of this debacle. Oddly enough, Alfred didn't recall seeing the man when the caterers had arrived; albeit he did recall seeing him moving about earlier. Perhaps he had come in at the same time as the band?

"Arrest _me? Me?_ You're the one who was going for my nuts, you demonic-lady sex-fiend thing!"

_'Good gracious, the man seemed quite perturbed...or maybe just disturbed. This will not do._'

Alfred blinked, casting his eyes to the floor where several globs of round objects were sticking to the parquet flooring.

"You weren't serving nuts," the butler observed upon spotting the ruined caviar.

"Tell that to the Sucks-A-Bus!" Wally pointed an accusing finger at the woman who'd tried to manhandle him...womanhandle...demonhandle? (Just what _was_ the non-gender specific politically correct term for being molested by a litigation-loving demon slut?)

"Did you just call me a _succubus?_" Selina's lips curled-into a pleased leer. "Flattery will get you most everywhere with me, Gingerbread...except out of a lawsuit. I plan to see you on display in court..._sweating_...after I sue your pants off. Preferably in that order." She eyed him up and down in a manner that left nothing to the imagination.

(Wally covered his central region with the silver platter and mentally added the strongest antiperspirant soap he could find to his shopping list. Also some holy water. Did they sell holy water in a roll-on or just a spray?)

"Ms. Kyle, such behavior is uncalled for. This man..." Alfred began.

"Lunatic," Selina corrected.

"Am not!" Wally hotly contested. (If there was one thing he was not crazy about right now it was the moon and anything to do with it. Also Suck-A-Buses, but that went without saying.)

"This person..." Alfred tried again.

"Owes me his..." Selina insisted.

"You're _not_ getting my _soul!_" A shaky Wally grabbed a nearby fork, butter knife and spoon from an innocent bystander in order to form an elongated 'silver cross' which he held up before his face. "Enog eb elive! Og! tarped-I mean...uh...no...er...traped! Yeah!"

Nothing happened.

'Oh-come-on!'

Wally tried again.

"Aranoyas! Sretsub-tsohg-?llac-annog-ay-ohw!"

Still nothing extraordinary transpired.

_(Damn it! Zatanna always made it look so easy!)_

"...is happily not part of my staff," Alfred concluded. He looked over at Wally who was till trying to ward off EVIL with a dinner utensil set. "Although I do agree that his mental state is certainly in question." The server looked betrayed at his assessment...like a kicked puppy.

"You're supposed to be on my side, Master.." the server seemed to catch himself "..._Card_. Where did I put that? Need to buy an exorcism."

Alfred frowned. This behavior was most unusual...and...and... "Do I _know_ you?"

"Um...not unless you regularly talk with non-magical people with dark hair and thick glasses?" Wally countered while not taking his eyes off the 'demon' for one second. Alfred's right eyebrow rose. Wally swallowed, bringing one hand over to point at own chest...the one currently holding onto a pointy fork. "Hey, I'm the victim here! I'm not a-_*quack!*" _Wally smiled a sickly 'oh crud' smile, his face pale behind the tanning creme. "Must be coming down with something. Tell you what...let's just call it _squaresies_ between everyone and forget the whole thing. I'll go back to my bed and she can go back to The Bottomless Pit."

"Are you all right, man?"

"Just ducky. I mean..._everything is fine."_ As soon as he could he was trading in FlashDucky's security blanket.._er...defensive Bat Cape_ for Captain-AmeriDucky's Shield of Invincibility...or whatever that over-sized Frisbee of Patriotic Pretentiousness was called. Of course there was that IronDucky accessory, but putting full-body iron armor on a rubber duck just seemed silly...unless it was for deep pond diving and he wasn't going there. Couldn't risk FlashDucky drowning because knowing Aquaman, Arthur Curry wouldn't save his duck's behind out of pure Atlantean spite for traitorous land breather toys.

...

Alfred was by this time seriously considering calling for the paddy wagon.

"That's rather debatable, Mr...East?" He sounded dubious about the name, sensing that he was missing something which was right in front of his face.

Right in front of his face...

Right in front of his face like a pair of cheap Superman Halloween costume accessory spectacles!

"West?" His eyes narrowed to slits.

"North, Zouth..." the speedster's voice was a nervous Pseudo-Ethnic waffle "...what iz zee difference in zis global economy?"

Oh yes...it was definitely West. Though the man was going to be South _(by approximately six feet)_ once Alfred got him out of here.

"Are we playing Twenty Questions?"

The butler stiffened in recognition just as the 'I live for amusement' voice of playboy Bruce Wayne commanded everyone's attention.

"What seems to be the trouble, Alfred?" Bruce Wayne lofted his half-full wine glass in the woman's direction, the blur of mild drunkenness clouding his normally sharp blue eyes. "Why, hello, Ms. Kyle...you look like something the _cat_ dragged in. Or are rye cracker hair accessories the latest fashion in Europe?"

Selina hissed like an annoyed tigress at his smirking appraisal of her state of dishevelment. She primly stole a mirrored trivet off a snack table in order to check her appearance, fastidiously brushing off the remains of the appetizers. That only seemed to amuse Wayne all the more. "Fashions changed again already?"

"Your staff member here hit me over the head, Bruce darling; without provocation, I might add."

(Wally was sorely tempted to toss a garlic sauce at her even if he wasn't sure if it worked on Suck-A-Buses; but he refrained, mostly because he was trying to blend into the background. It had _nothing-absolutely nothing-_to do with her looking like a vampire in heat. Only now he wasn't sure just who she wanted on her dance card as he could swear she was flirting full-tilt with Wayne.)

"I demand he be arrested." Her little diatribe earned her a chuckle from the host.

"Don't be silly, m'dear, Alfred would never assault-"

"Not Alfred...this...incompetent _child_ you hired."

"I'd be careful with that claim of child labor law abuse, Ms. Kyle. You know what people will say about your own age if you start claiming an adult looks far younger than he truly is." Bruce rambled on in a tipsy manner as he eyed where the uptight woman was pointing. The accused was bent down and facing the other way, studiously picking up the much abused caviar from the floor and muttering patrons alike as would a baboon searching for fleas. The sight brought on a strong sense of deja-vu. Could it be the same man who had been pilfering caviar earlier? Yes...yes it was. "I'm sure it was just an accident, Selina," Bruce attempted to soothe while keeping one eye on the server, "and I hope this little mishap doesn't end our business venture?

That got her attention centered on him again.

"Would that business venture involve a merger of our common...assets?" Selina coyly asked.

"Stranger things have happened of late," Bruce made a show of playfully thinking it over. "I'm open to _negotiate_. "Why don't we leave Alfred to take care of the nastier details while you and I discuss the more pleasant particulars?"

"Indeed, sir. I'm sure I can take care of the situation on my own." As much as he disapproved of Selina, Alfred was only too eager to get 'East' away from Wayne before Bruce recognized his team mate.

"It's okay...I can dispose of these fish eggs on my own," 'Bart East' volunteered, holding out a handful of dirty roes.

Alfred's face was as animated as stone. Not a good sign.

"Then to forestall any more mishaps, I'd best accompany you to the outside refuse bins where we keep the _waste material_."

Wally gulped. Oh yeah, Alfred was pissed.

_Man, I need a hero!

* * *

_

The hero arrived, but not in the way or shape that Wally could have wished for:

"Hold on, Gramps. Not before he sings. We have a contract." Mr. Hassex unfurled the paper Wally had signed. "Signed, sealed, and delivered."

Sometime during the altercation the manager had returned to get his substitute singer. He placed one possessive hand on Wally's shoulder, bustling him on stage and leaving Alfred with a copy of The Devil's Covenant. It was making a strange sort of sense to Wally now: Hassex and Suck-A-Bus were a tag team. This was all a concerted scheme to damn his soul to Hell.

"Mr. Hassex, I must protest that-"

_Yes...Alfred! Alfred was his Daniel Webster there to defend him against Ol' Scratch even if it was only to take behind the woodshed afterward!_

"At least until this gig is over. Then he's yours again."

"A moment that fills me with anticipatory elation," Alfred growled at Wally, who blanched in the face of the man's simmering rage.

_Then again, was Hades really that bad? Maybe it just got a bad rep because of Satan's presence and the being underground thing. Like Batman's cave. The Batcave was actually pretty cool what with the giant penny and the dino and all the rad cars. Of course you had to overlook the fact that Batman would be there too and Batz was sort of a Devil's stand-in when he went all Goddamned and all._

"Wow. I feel so valued," Wally muttered under his breath. "Can I at least have a raise before I'm fired one way or another?"

Hassex shook his head. "Personally, I think you've got enough lumps coming to your noggin, kid."

* * *

Meanwhile, Alfred wasn't the only one left bristling at Hassex's attitude towards the butler and Wayne confidant. "Nobody treats..." A slight but firm grip on his arm stopped him.

"Let him go, Bruce. Alfred can take care of himself and it's not like Mr. East can _run_ away from you." Selina smirked at him like they'd shared a private joke. "Now about that business venture? Would that be of the day or the night variety?" She bumped her hip against his. Bruce sighed internally as he draped an arm around his guest's shoulders. "The one we're going to discuss, of course," was his noncommittal reply.

"Oh, let's do."

He steered her towards the liquor bar. "First off, I don't recall your name being on the guest list."

"When has such a trifle like that ever stopped me? Besides, you know how I detest leaving paper trails."

"True," Bruce agreed. "You prefer to keep your business firmly in the litter box." While she pouted he poured them both a fresh glass of wine.

"Aren't we the irritated tom today?"

"Now why would that be?" he asked her with a touch of snappishness. Some nearby party attenders looked in his direction. "Let's take this somewhere more private." He headed towards a side room for all the world looking like a playboy about to indulge in some favorite past time...the kind that wore a short skirt.

"Mmm...definitely a night-time alliance," Selina gave the onlookers a happy little wave as she hung onto his arm. "Now my whiskers are tingling with anticipation."

* * *

"Do songs get called on account of rain?" Maybe he could set off the sprinkler system? With any luck he and FlashDucky would be fine while at least the witches out there would melt.

Hassex fixed a microphone to his jacket. "Don't be more of an idiot than I'm already taking you for. Here..." he stuffed some papers into Wally's hands "these are the lyrics for the opening songs. _Don't_ lose them and keep them in order. You might also try not to be obvious if you have to refer to them while up there."

"No problem." Wally glanced over the papers...in reality he was shuffling through them super fast to speed memorize the words. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me? I haven't heard most of these since...never. Did they even have musical instruments when these were written?" Finished, he crammed the lot into a pocket.

Monitor duty was never this bad.

* * *

_Watchtower: J'onn tagged that one as future blackmail material.

* * *

_

In a shadowed alcove, two dark-haired young men in pressed suits watched with interest. The shorter one could no longer suppress a groan.

"You sure we shouldn't intervene _now?" _He'd been asking that every few minutes. Ever since Wally had been sighted leaving the kitchens. Still his partner kept insisting:

"Nah...it's not that awful so far." Richard glanced around. "The place is still standing."

"That's just because he hasn't sung yet," Tim reminded his 'brother'. Didn't Dick know that while roadrunners were fast on their feet, they couldn't sing worth a lick? Of course Wally wasn't an actual bird. Still, he was _Wally._ Odds were he couldn't sing without breaking things...like ear drums. "I don't want to be here for that. Bruce made the acoustics in here perfect, remember? The stress tolerances might not be able to take it."

Dick snorted. "You're thinking of a certain Canary." He pointed to where Dinah was dancing-and regularly poking at a certain goatee-sporting blond partner who had had too much to drink. "She's too busy dealing with Ollie's less-than-perfect-aim-for-her-lips to offer to sing."

"No, 'Wing, I'm thinking more of men who attract bad circumstances like Major Disaster wishes he could. Ollie's drunk, Bruce's with Selina, and Wally's going on stage _to sing_ with_ Bruce right there_." Tim finished in a frustrated pout. "I'd rather be facing off with The Croc in a swamp right now."

"Relax, I've got at least Bruce covered."

* * *

Bruce Wayne took a deep breath. Being alone with Selina Kyle as either the wealthy feline habitat advocate or the cat burglar 'Catwoman' was not something he cared to do right now, but for the last minute or so prior he had been infused with a growing feeling of dread that something awful was going to happen if he and she hung out on the ballroom floor for much longer...and he usually trusted his instincts. He had gotten her alone and away from the other guests until he found out what she was up to.

"What was that all about...with the singer? And don't keep pretending you're truly want him arrested. I know you, Selina. You're giving off far too much self satisfaction to be sincerely angry at him."

"Just a little diversion," Selina smiled demurely at her long-time semi-opponent. "Oh, he's cute as a curious kitten, but a bit of a cat on a hot tin roof...so high strung, that one. You should know by now, Bruce, that I prefer them tall, dark, handsome...and _moody_. Full grown panthers are more...engaging." She pursed her lips with an air of speculation. " Although...I didn't know he could sing." She cocked an elegant eyebrow at is scowl. "Why? Are you _jealous of a competing tomcat on your turf?_"

"Hardly." Bruce studiously sipped from his glass.

"Pity_ that_. I love the fire in your eyes when you get heated up." She smoothed down her gown in a suggestive manner. "_Meow_...tom cat fights turn this kitty on. But if you don't want to play cat and bat..." She pretended to sip from her own glass. "Your friend is rather charming in his way...when he's not hitting women over the head with seafood," she added as an afterthought. Brushing her tongue tip against her glass, she still desisted from actually drinking from it. Selina knew Bruce well enough not to trust any drink that had been placed directly in her hand.

The feeling was mutual.

"My friend?" Bruce emitted a light snort.

"Bats aren't the only ones who can _'see'_ within the shadows," Selina reminded him. She made a quiet sound of amusement. "Of course...what was I thinking? You never _do_ friendships_." _Tilting back her head, she came up with an alternative term._ "Business_ associate then? Just don't tell me you two are also involved in a secondary _merger_...I'm intrigued enough as it is without discovering his being your cata-" She smirked at his affronted look from over the edge of her wine glass and drawled. "Right...Selina is being a bad kitty. But tell me...when the cat's away, _does_ the Bat play?"

"Selina, I don't even know his name nor am I interested in him one way or the other. He's came with the orchestra and will shortly be leaving with them." Bruce frowned to himself. _If the man was part of the substitute band Alfred had hired, why had he been serving caviar? And why did his appearance seem 'wrong' Could he be an accomplice of Catwoman's to throw him off track? Was that the reason the regular band had been conveniently unavailable?_

She eyed him as if he was morphing form right in front of her then gave a short laugh. "Oh my..._really..._you don't know? This _is_ a recipe for _cat_astrophe." She paused in confused thought. "Actually, it is almost impossible. Are you sure you're The World's Greatest Detective? Maybe you're really that Martian?" She trailed her fingers around his chest. "A cat can't be too careful these days. I think some verification of identity is in order. How about we remove this shirt as a start?"

* * *

Watchtower: "Lady, you couldn't handle a _real_ Martian." J'onzz saluted himself with another swig of papaya juice that he'd spiked with whipped cream and Red food dye #7. He found the combination gave him a mild buzz...perfect for situations like this where his telepathic ability was feeling rather taxed from overuse. Nobody should have to be keeping continuous tabs on a speedster and his cohorts for this length of time. Only massive intakes of sugar and 'artificial ingredient' concoctions were keeping him sane.

Junk food...also the application of off-the-wall humor.

.

.

.

Dear gods..._he was turning into_ _Wally.

* * *

_

A/N: Again I ended up with an obscure chapter title. I suppose it does fit, but not because of the song. Selina is the Cat in the cradle (both as a feline near an innocent 'babe' and as the game of devising complex string patterns, Bruce is the Silver Spoon (wealthy person), Wally is our little Boy Blue (both as melancholy and about to blow his own horn...no, not Supes! lol), and the Man in the Moon is J'onn watching all from on high. Or maybe just _'high'_ in this case?

In-jokes:

Speaking of 'high' in the recreational sense... For those of you who didn't get the joke, there was a Justice League comic story where Superman was off his nut for a bit due to _blue_ kryptonite. It was pretty darn funny and I wish the site I saw it at was still there so I could go back and find the particular issue number. Meanwhile, the red variety rendered Superman powerless. Enough said?

Dole is a major company that sells fruits like bananas.

While part of the JL-Europe, Kara adopted the most mangy cat you'd ever seen. That feline was a serious menace...very mean and disaster prone. Everyone was afraid of it.

If you haven't seen Batman Brave & the Bold's Requiem for a Speedster, you are missing a treat. Look for it on the net if Warner Bros is still being a pain.

Whoa!

I've become aware some of my stories are being read at from some pretty bizarre areas. Pakistan? Iran? The heck? Is this kind of humor legal over there? Am going to assume for my peace of mind that these are soldiers or diplomatic people online who just happened to be stationed in places that (from what I've gathered) would cheerfully gut me for writing K+ humor of a non-modest variety.

Oh, to be able to run like the wind. :)


	8. Mama said there'd be days like this

A/N: Yeah, yeah, enough stalling. Wally is actually going to sing in this chapter. I think.

* * *

Chapter 8: Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

.

Up on the stage Wally smiled nervously at the crowd of guests below him. What with the preceding altercation, he had already won their full attention.

_'Leave it to me to snare the booby prize.'_

Of course it was all the stupid Suck-A-Bus's fault that he had a gazillion eyeballs aimed at him like a firing squad comprised of (and that would be figuratively speaking _comprised_ of) a platoon of Batmen at a time he'd hoped to just slip in and off the stage unnoticed. A regular unsung hero.

No such luck. Now Wally was getting all nervous and twitchy and he could already feel his brain's grasp on the material he'd memorized starting to slip away like _Pinky & The Brain_ from a sinking three-hour cruise; and while FlashDucky was both aquatic and comprised of rubber, he was too small to make a decent raft that would save Wally's butt from being stranded on a desert island (Wayne Manor) with only The Skipper (Pennysworth), The Professor (Tim), and Mr. Howell (Bruce) for slapstick comedy companionship because the closest thing to Ginger was himself and that was not...no...because he was so very _not_ wearing any sparkly dresses while he sang.

Hold the phone! What if his Little Buddy could effect a rescue? Maybe he could just let FlashDucky sing? That Jingle Bells tune with just the dogs barking had been a big hit, hadn't it?

What was his first song again?

The crowd must be picking up on his fear. There was no other explanation for why so many of them who hadn't paid attention as yet were suddenly cutting short their personal conversations in order to stare at him like a pride of lions at a lone gazelle.

Wally was pretty sure that first song wasn't supposed to be The Circle of Life.

_-Strike one-_

* * *

It was almost laughable.

Normally Wally West wasn't this shy around people. He _liked_ people. People were for the most part interesting _ (especially when they were up to something they -legally- weren't supposed to be up to like that time he'd spotted Booster Gold trying to relieve Shayera of some plumage because Michael couldn't afford to buy a less exotic feather pillow for his 'Fragile: Handle With Care' head),_ and generally engaging in some fashion_ (even if it was only to plant Wally under the sod because he'd inadvertently called Shayera's attention to the fact that she shouldn't ought to mangle Booster like that as it was a great idea Booster had (stolen from Wally while he was muttering to himself) since he for one would love to receive a feather-filled bed pillow under his tree come next Christmas. Shayera...quite contrarily...seemed to think this was a rotten idea to which Wally had reminded her that at least Thanagarians were lucky enough to have such a ready-made and personal-type gift giving option available during the holidays. It wasn't like Wally could make presents from pure Speed Force. Really, she should feel blessed.)_

Women. Sometimes they were so clueless when it came to seeing a compliment for what it was.

Of course there were other types of engaging things about people. The Rogues in particular came to mind seeing as they were hell-bent on creating one-of-a-kind super-destroyer-gizmos whose business end they insisted be aimed at all times towards _Flash's_ own 'business end' while they waxed on with outlined presumptuous assessments of his mental capacity.

Which was all kinds of rude, really, because he'd _meant_ to do what only _looked_ to be stupid to the untrained eye since it threw his adversaries off their game if they wasted a precious second thinking 'what the fuck?' or laughing their rear off...which gave Wally a chance to get some top-notch strategizing time in.

Wait..was he thinking of the last encounter with his Rogues or that episode with _Batz?_

Anyway, all of that stuff was pretty much because real life was closer to what you found in a bad soap opera than most people wanted to acknowledge: evil dudes liked to talk a lot (again, mostly about their evil plans regarding his person) and generally it was amusing to listen to before he laid it all to waste. (Or the inverse where Batz was scarily silent while he devised evil retribution against Wally for...

Oh, _that_ was a bad flashback. Better to skip that one.)

_John_ had once theorized during a League meeting that there seemed to be a correlation between mental activity being hinged to mouth activity and a lack of brain power...as if the lower the intelligence, the more the need to talk. Wally had agreed wholeheartedly and went on to detail about that week's battle with the Rogues and his own frustrating encounter with a bona-fide Toyman life-sized robot parrot that had landed on his shoulder and kept repeating everything he said while Toyman made his get-away and wouldn't you know the idiot thing wouldn't stop talking and seemed determined not to let Wally get the last word in: kept returning quip for quip until Wally had been compelled to cut loose with so many rapid-fire Trivia Pursuit answers that the stupid bird eventually fried itself trying to keep up and that was why he had been ten minutes late joining them that day after the fruitless search for Toyman.

Why the other Founders had suddenly looked at him at that moment with those expressions was still an enigma...it wasn't like Wally had made any physical sign that he wanted to add anything to John's theory about Rogues and their need to outline their plans for world dominion.

Sometimes his teammates were just inscrutable.

The point was, this situation with being on stage in front of strangers was different from talking with friends about work-related stuff:

_("Hey, Supes, what kind of detergent do you find keeps the primary colors brighter longer? This brand keeps turning my reds all pinkish and the last thing I need is for The Pied Piper to get any wrong ideas when I ask him for a hand on some job.")_

...Or maybe your awesome exploits to a few known associates who shared a given passion for beating up googly-eyed sons of Godzilla and cousins to Ming The Merciless:

(_"Then our car fell off the roller coaster track at some point during the loopy-de-loop section and fell smack-dab onto __the merry-go-round __even while I was knocking out the bad dudes by imitating a twister, at which point the struts gave way and we were sent skidding into__ this whirl-a-round ride where__ my hand accidentally hit the control lever which sent that into max acceleration! Man, J'onn, if the carny ever designs a legit ride with g-forces like that I'm getting season tickets! So can you take over my monitor duty? 'Cause I'm taking Nightwing to the pizza parlor as a surprise celebration of our big V over evil and all that. Well, I am just as soon as 'Wing regains the ability to stand upright and walk straight.")  
_

Even schmoozing with media anchors while a nation of strangers ogling him from beyond TV camera lenses was okay because he were safely 'anonymous' behind a concealing suit over a phenomenal physique that drew attention away from any odd bits of blue coconut shavings that may have escaped being removed from the pearly whites:

_("Course The League all look to me when things get sticky. Why, just this morning there was some action over at the industrial food factory. If I hadn't dived in and carved out our escape by eating a pathway out of the goo, Wonder Babe would have suffocated in a vat of Alpine-CoNutCakes batter. Of course that was just before I stopped GL's ring from becoming one heck of a Krack-Jack prize when the oil that fell on him made it slip from his finger right into the popcorn mix with it's illegal drug ingredients the bad guys had added in. Lord knows how many boxes of the stuff we'd have had to buy with the petty cash fund before we found that particular doohickey._

_What? how did Wondy fall in and the oil get dumped? Well, that's classified info because, hey, everyone's innocent until proven guilty. But those was nothing compared to what happened to Batman and the pink-cotton candy machine... Uh oh, folks, speak of the devil and he will start snarling over the old Justice League comm. Must be some bad stuff going down even as we speak as they need yours truly to get them out of a jam and you know these days that could well be a literal thing. Which reminds me of the time...Sheesh-watch the ear drums, Batz! I'll be there in a sec, okay? You are so impatient at times. Got ta go, people! I tell you, the League just can't do anything without my help. I'm indispensable!"_

_.  
_

_"__Um...Wondy? I don't remember agreeing to play Truth or Consequences with you and since when did your lasso have to go around the neck to work? No, I am not vibrating my neck this hard in order to cheat the lasso's lie-detecting properties. That would be implying incriminating behavior-r-r. I think you should-d apolog-giz-ze"  
_

_"Circumstantial evidence, John! Honestly, it could have been anyone masquerading as the Flash and telling those embarrassing stories of you guys to the press. Maybe even an evil twin. You know how rampant those are this time of year what with all the clearance-priced Halloween costumes for sale. The burden of proof is on..."_

_"That's a fine and dandy bluff, Batz, but you know Supes swore he never uses that x-ray vision for frivolous purposes; right, Big Blue?"_

_"Say what? There's a Bat tracer planted on me where? How? Oh, that's just...freaky...and definitely a violation of my personal space."  
_

_"Oh yeah? Well, mind read this, J.J.! Next time you need fast, fast, fast relief after a choco binge, J'onn, I suggest you call FedEx for the medical delivery."_

_"Banned? You can't ban me without doing a vote. Oh...unanimous? You mean I actually caused Batz to agreed with Supes about something? Well that just shows how much you guys need...wait!"_

_"Man, I hate the teleporter.")_

* * *

So much for the carefree days of yester-month.

* * *

He seriously needed to get around this bout of stage fright.

_'Time to focus on the here and now...let the Force flow through you, padawan.'_

Of course, Qui-Gon Jinn had done that and ended up with a terminal case of heart burn.

At times like this Wally was actually glad his supposed-to-have-died-a-hero-after-aiding-invading-aliens-trying-to-take-over-the-Earth-and-trying-to-sell-his-only-son-to-Russian-scientists dad had given him one piece of useful advice before the bum had taken off for parts unknown with his lusting fire demoness of a girlfriend after crashing mom's second wedding to a French spy who was named Rudolpho Valentino. (Yes, that _did_ happen and was why he found Shayera's soap operas so unimaginative.)

Anyway, dad had told him:

_._

_"Wally, m'boy...if you ever need to make a sales pitch and get the willies...just picture everyone naked save for the greenbacks in their hands._ I can't even recall one face of the people I suckered, but I can read palms better than a fortune teller."

.

So, yeah...his dad was in no danger of ever winning a Father Of The Year award unless they had a Worst Of category. Still, even scum could sometimes rise to moments of wisdom before plopping back down into the muck. Maybe dad had been on to something?

It was worth a shot. If he concentrated...concentrated _hard on picturing his audience.._.

Wow! It was actually working! The image of a sea of death-dealing Batmen were morphing...changing...into a sea of death-dealing Batmen who were...nay...nah...nee...yee...yaah!

_Abort mission! Abort! Abort!_

* * *

_Sirs...I'm picking up a blip on the long range scanners._

_Watch it, Luke, there's an enemy shit approaching from starboard!_

_Uh...I think you mean 'ship', Han._

_Don't try to tell me what I mean, kid._

_This is Admiral Lobster-Head. Deploy all sty-fighters and prepare defensive measures, Captain Solo. They won't make us blind without a fight! May the Force be with you all._

_You mean like it was with all the Jedi Knights in the prequels?_

_Oh, shaddup._

_"This is Highly-Admirable WallyBrain to the Rebel Fleet Feet! Close all visual ports! CLOSE. ALL. VISUAL. PORTS! Switch to Emergency Daydream mode!_

_Switching..._

_Highly Admirable! There are reports of Image Port Cell short outs all over the ship and...sir, we've been boarded by Impalpable StarkersTroopers!_

_Shut down all imagination stations! Empty the memory banks!_

_*flush...swirl...gurgle...gurgle*  
_

_Mental visual screens terminated, sir!_

_._

_Horrible! Horrible! If my visual receptors aren't fried... This is all your fault, Aretoo!_

_...AreToo, are you employing an asthmatic voice synthesizer program?_

_._

_Sir...procrastination droid See'deTrinityP.O'd reports sighting a naked Dark Knight of the Snit approaching the bridge. Shall we evacua...aaagh!_

_(Hmm...I'll take that as a sign it's too late to slip away.) Darth Batz! I should have known you'd be here._

_Admirable WallyBrain...(wheeze)...I want those stolen Death Moon River plans..._

_So you can destroy the Rebel cause, Darth?_

_No...(wheeze)...they were printed on my cape and your mind is rather drafty. How do you think I got this damned head cold? Now die!  
_

* * *

_Gah! Wally sucked in a steadying breath, still feeling those phantom fingers around his throat._

_.  
_

Of course picturing people au-naturel probably wasn't the best course of action anyway. Certainly not when you were facing a bunch of grumpy geriatrics who looked to be auditioning for the California _Prune Pits_ chorus line, Wally decided.

_'No wonder Batz chooses to haunt this city. I bet even Gotham's local McDougall's had custom-made Grumpy Meal take-out boxes that sport sneers__ rather than smiles._'

Wally sorely missed Keystone/Central with it's sunny skies and sweet people where the only ones who actively tried to kill you wore outlandish costumes that advertised their hostile intentions in advance.

* * *

Aboard the Watchtower washroom:

J'onn whimpered. Elderly nude Batmen invaders wielding red lightsabers. That... That was...

Good thing he'd shifted into a shape that could wash its own eyeballs in the sink.

Having already depleted the Watchtower's kitchen supply of junk food, the Martian went to check the various domiciles for hidden cache's of sugary sanity savers.

It was his own fault.

Dr. Fate had warned him not to accept any commission that involved rooting around Flash's inner psyche. This explained in glaring detail why the mystic would rather live in his nice, safe, speedster-free Tower rather than with the League. In fact, he had said he was working on the ultimate security system devised to fend off psychic attacks based largely on Wally's abstract thought processes.

Right now J'onn did not doubt that even Brainiac would be repelled by such a defensive shield.

* * *

"Ladies, and gentlemen," boomed out the conductor's voice from his podium, "tonight's selection of your requested songs will be sung courtesy of a talented newcomer to the musical arena."

_'Talented? Oh yay! Did that mean Hassex's relief singer had come at last and his bacon was saved?'  
_

I give you..eh" the conductor glanced at some ink on the palm of his hand, "Mr. Bartholomew East." (There was a spattering of 'polite' clapping as the band struck up the notes to his first song.)

_'Aw...that would be a 'no', then. Best to just get this over with as quickly as possible. If he got there before closing time at the clinic, he might be able to talk James aka The Trickster into subletting his psychiatric room in exchange for a guaranteed partner at soft darts. So yeah, getting this over like lickety-split was good._

Because fast was always good._  
_

(Really, in retrospect he should have realized the problem with that idea right then and there.)

* * *

Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow, affecting a bemused air at Selina's continued wordplay and innuendo. Inside, he was anything but amused. Catwoman knew something Batman did not...or she thought she did. That could not bode well either way.

Setting down his glass, he trapped her wandering hands with his own. "I'd show you the i.d. in my wallet, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get the contents back. Now, before I lose my shirt on this venture, what is it that you find so comedic?"

Selina smirked, but did not go for another of his shirt buttons. Not _yet_, anyway. "Oh no. I'm not letting this cat out of the bag." She cast sly glances towards the main ballroom. "It _is_ an extensive gathering of the well-to-do you have attending this gala, Bruce darling. Maybe I was merely referring to all the lovely _kitty toys_ being displayed by the old tabbys here...and all of that _catnip_ getting moldy in their bank accounts would buy a lot of lobster din-dins for my children. " His grim look prompted her to wink at him. "Besides, I'm sure you don't need your Irene Adler to spoil the surprise. You'll figure it out for yourself...Sherlock."

"Selina..." he warned. As much as he somehow always found himself cutting her extra slack, he wasn't going to let someone get hurt if he could prevent it.

"Ssshh," she playfully hushed him with a finger to his lips. "Let's indulge in our own private party for a moment. Then I want to hear the boy's _cat_erwauling before either you, his discriminating audience, or...as I suspect...Alfred strangles him." She tilted her chin a bit and mused, "Although even an _alley cat may look like a king_ so perhaps I am being overly _catty_. Who knows...maybe junior's got enough _lives_ to survive the night."

"Selina?"

"Yes?"

Bruce gave her a dark look of warning. As much as he was drawn to her, he did not approve of everything she saw as 'having fun'. "I won't have anyone here used as a cat's paw."

"Just _cat_egorizing for future possibilities. Call it my little mad quirk but I just can't control the urge to color the world to my own fashion."

"Not even arrested yet and already claiming psychosis?" he smirked.

You're the one currently leashed by cathexis," Catwoman murmured.

_Cathexis?_ Bruce blinked at her use of that word. It meant being under an unhealthy amount of mental scrutiny by another. What was she getting at? "What?"

"Just thinking a _CAT_ scan might be right up your alley, lover. But for now...how about we stop playing Law & Order and switch to..." she started playing with his buttons again. "Pay per View?"

"Selina..."

"You know, your mind had trouble getting past my name earlier; does this mean you're going to restart the cycle? Although I do so love hearing my name on your lips. You make it sound so..._seductive_," she purred. "I think it's the sibilant way you begin with the 's'...an alpha tom hiss of warning that you won't be messed with...unless it's by a lady with classic feline wiles."

The corner's of his mouth started tightening in that so-very Batman way.

"Oh, don't go all pouty, Bruce...you used to love our nightly fun. Now, I just paid you a clue; therefore," she ran her fingers down his chest, "you owe me a view. I do so love our barter system."

Internally, Bruce sighed as he gave in. Just this once tonight in the interest of keeping her _somewhat_ on a leash.

No other reason.

None whatsoever.

(pause)

Crud.

_Beautiful cat burglars were his kryptonite._

The strains of old-time pop music came from the ballroom. Wayne realized that the band must have begun playing the requests people had put in earlier. Bruce didn't know whether to be relieved or to curse. He was leaning towards the latter, but his song request was a family observance of sorts. That took precedence over most everything else. Once more he reluctantly stopped her hands.

"I'm going to have to take a raincheck on that...at least until one song is over. Call it my own mad quirk, but it's a tradition. Care to join me in the ballroom until then?"

"Mmm...would this tradition be _our_ song?"

He removed her hand from his trouser seat. "No."

"Damn. Well, of course I'll accompany you. Can't have that rain check fly off into the night like a bat out of..." He forcibly tugged her back into the ballroom. "...hell." Isis, but he could be such a _man_, Selina grinned.

Mama said there'd be days like this (if she played her cards right.) Mrr-eow.

* * *

Some minutes previously:

Alfred silently fumed. First Master Timothy had made himself scarce, then Master Richard had disappeared shortly after his arrival. Now Catwoman was surely attempting to make a meal of Master Bruce. On top of it all, his young student had explicitly disobeyed a direct command and was about to make a further mess of the gala by undoubtedly subjugating everyone to tinnitus and -sadly- Wayne Manor didn't have enough ear plugs to go around.

(The band struck up the first series of notes.)

He snuck some ear plugs into aural cavities.

* * *

Upon hearing his cue, Wally opened his mouth and sang out the classic lyrics for Harry Dacre's Daisy Belle. It was the first of the ones he'd speed memorized earlier and to put it mildly...it didn't exactly get his heart a'pumping.

Obviously, Batman had okay-ed this sucker of a ditty purely for it's crime scene value alone even if the villain's identity was pretty cut and dried.

.

_"There's a flower within my warm heart,_

_Daisy, Daisy,_

_Planted one day by a glancing dart,_

_Planted by Daisy Bell._

_Whether she loves me or loves me not_

_Sometimes it's hard to tell..."_

_.  
_

Really, if this Daisy person wasn't Poison Ivy in disguise with her deadly flower darts and all, then Wally was a figment of someone's imagination. And if Harry couldn't tell by her attempts at murdering the guy that she hated his guts or was simply a black widow out for his cash...

Well... no, robbery couldn't be the reason for her murderous tendencies because obviously...

_"It won't be a stylish marriage-_

_I can't afford a carriage,_

_But you'll look sweet upon the seat_

_Of a bicycle built for two."  
_

They guy was flat broke.

So if money wasn't the reason for the crime, then it had to be because Harry had previously trampled over Poison Ivy's flower garden with his two-wheeler.

So the culprit was Poison Ivy, the murder weapon was a flower stem sharpened into a poisonous dart to the heart, and the reason was revenge. Pure and simple, end of story. Easier than a game of Clue.

_So boring even The Question would have ignored the newspaper accounts._

He finished the last word of the song, amazed and happy he'd gotten through it without falling asleep or otherwise making a fool of himself because...that had been as tedious as playing Boy Scout to a geezer in a walker who insisted on going at his own pace.

The tempo of Daisy Belle being the curmudgeonly geezer.

_Anyway, thank God that one's done!_

Relieved, he looked out at the crowd to judge their reaction. Would they throw kisses or tomatoes?

Apparently neither.

Nothing came his way save for a few puzzled looks and most of those were edging towards the speaker system. One man appeared to be reaching to clear out an ear. In fact...

(The band struck up the second series of notes as his perspective continued to adjust itself back to normal speed.)

_'Oh for heaven's sake!'_

_He'd sung the entire song so fast it had sounded to normal ears like speaker feedback._

Pinching his nose, Wally muttered, "Great..so the Senility Seventy didn't hear any of that."

The audience frowned, switching from eying the speakers to glaring at him with displeasure.

Um...

Wally glanced backwards at Hassex and pointed at the microphone near his mouth. "On?"

The sweating man nodded once. S_harply._

"Guess they heard _some_ of it then."

Another pained nod.

_Oh._

At this rate the crowd was more likely to be eating his hand rather than out of it and worse yet...

_He had to sing that Turtle-inspired torture of a song -again- at an even -slower- rate?_

"Mama said there'll be days like this, there'll be days like this my mama said..." Wally half sang, half cursed under his breath.

_-strike two-_

_

* * *

_

Watchtower: Manhunter sighed. Clearly Wally's mother had either been prophetic or simply knew her son extremely well. He downed a couple of marshmallows he'd found in Superman's room, humming along with the tune out of empathy. "Mama said there'_d be days like this, there'll be days like this..."  
_

_

* * *

_

"...If you find love hang on to each caress  
And never let love go  
For when it's gone you'll know the loneliness  
The heartbreak only the lonely know."

The crowd clapped with some hesitancy. Wally couldn't blame them. Those were lousier lyrics than his sorry rendition of that Schwinn double-seater murder mystery. Between the depressing lines and the speed of each selection he was being put to sleep as surely as if they were doing a Brahma Bull's lullaby. It had been all he could do to stay awake through the whole thing let alone put any heart into it.

Well...onward into the fray. The show must go.

(For some stupid reason that he'd have to ask Zatanna about.)

_Fly me to the moon and_  
_Let me play among the stars_  
_Let me see what spring is like_  
_On Jupiter and Mars..._

Damn...he'd actually noticeably choked on that part, but it was the song's fault what with invoking imagery he really wanted to avoid. Even Alfred was shaking his head while Hassex was holding his while grimacing. The conductor had this smug "I told you so" look on his face even as he beheld the result of his Pyrrhic victory.

_Smarmy Bastard._

Wally bit his lip. He was _failing_ everybody who had put even a micron of trust in him. Still...only one more song to go before he could slink off and find something sugary to console himself with.

_*sigh* 'Candy Mountain, that's where I want to be...by the Soda Water Fountain and beneath the gum-drop tree...'_

Hey, maybe the last one would speak to his soul before his soul had to explain the entire sad story of his unexpectedly-shortened life to Saint Peter?

Now, what was the last special request?

He reached into his pocket to brush up on the song in question. (That was the problem with speedster-style 'cram' memorization...it didn't last very long even at the best of times and right now these were the downright crummy times. He was really feeling stressed and had trouble recalling the ending of Mrs. Mona Lisa last paragraph never mind the final lines.) No matter. He still had his cheat sheets courtesy of Mr. Hassex.

Here we go...

_They just lie there and they die there_  
_Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa?_  
_Or..._

Okay, he'd just sung that. No problem. Next page...

_...On a bicycle built for two._

Huh? That wasn't right. Hadn't he sung those lines already? Worse, hadn't he sung them and not together like that?

'Damnit...I must have gotten the papers out of order!

_Help!help!help!__Help!help!help!__Help!help!help!_

_Don't panic, Brain! Easy fix!'_

He speed flipped through the pages faster, trying to get them into order before anyone noticed anything, but it was hard because they were wrinkled and crinkled from his having carelessly crammed them into the same pocket that already housed FlashDucky and he was panicking and moving too fast...

Smoke sprouted from the friction of paper brushing against paper.

_Combustible_ paper brushing against...

Within microseconds flaming gray and black ashes were falling towards his shoes in slow motion as if to prolong the torture.

_Holy, Great Caesar's Ghost caught in a compromising position with Hera, Batman! If this doesn't constitute being fired, I don't know what does!_

_

* * *

_

_[cue the Mission: Impossible theme music, maestro!]  
_

'_Gentlemen, we have a Peter Graves situation in progress. Despite our best efforts, our greatest foe, 'Rotten Luck', has stolen a song sheet (code named: Moon River) of unparalleled importance. It is vital we get it back. World peace between West and Eastern alliances may well depend on it__. Gentlemen, the only way to save the Earth from rabid bats is to recover that song. Your mission...should you choose to accept it (and you'd darn better or it's playing Asteroid-Smash Derby for the rest of your miserable life)...is to restore that song sheet and sing like you've never sung before. Well, not like you'd -never- sung...you know what I mean!  
_

_I'd warn that this tape will self destruct in five seconds, but thanks to a certain agent's incompetence, there's been enough violations of the building's fire code for one..._

_KA-BOOM!_

_Never mind.'  
_

_

* * *

_

_Don't panic! Maybe he could rebuild it like they did with Astronaut Steve Austin before inflation made $6 Million worth of cybernetics seem like Dollar Discount Day at WayneTech?_

_Tetris! He was a pro at Tetris! A touch of speed had caused this and a touch of speed would fix it!_

Wally, going deeper into speed mode, fell to his knees trying to sort through the pieces of ash for anything recognizable as the foundation of a page while adding 'that little extra' to his pleas to the Almighty at the same time.

_'God, if you help me out here I swear I'll never pull another prank as long as I...never have a better idea for one cross my mind. I'll leave that possibility up to you because, it would be your call, Biggest Guy, what with being omnipotent like Supes and all. By the way, you ever consider wearing something besides that flowing loin cloth thing Leonardo lent you? Or maybe it was a choice of that for your portrait or your spandex suit and that's why you're against having any more pictures taken? I mean -no offense- but you're kind of pushing the eons there and I've seen some of those early super suits the Golden Oldies generation wore. Not exactly Kodak moments there.'_

_Okay, so he sucked big time at making small talk with the Almighty. (Poor Uncle Barry had been incredulous when that lightning bolt had defied the odds and struck him out of the blue? Pretty clear to Wally that it hadn't been the Speed Force marking him for power: it had been divine retribution for shooting off at the mouth during the previous night's bedside prayer session.)  
_

_Everything was cool, everything was cool...even if 'everything' was scorched bits of paper flakes sporting little flickers of heat like a forewarning the Lake of Fire._

_'Ha! That looked like an 'oo'...and there was a definite 'th'...or a 'ch'? Great, great... All he needed was a fire extinguisher, some white glue...'_

_...and a high-powered microscope from Star Labs along with a team of archeological renovation scientists willing to do pro-bono work that could all be finished in the space of a normal person's eye blink._

"And now by a very _special request_..." Wally heard the conductor begin to pronounce in his relatively (slowed downed) slurred voice-

_'Yeah, yeah, Moon River...working on it...' he snatched up another vowel and tried to find a match.  
_

"...from our eminent host, Mr. Bruce Wayne..."

_'huh?'_

"..._Moon River._"

Wally looked up from his kneeling position in a state of paralytic terror as the conductor raised his little stick thing:

Who-what-when-where-how-why?

Bruce Wayne? Since when did _Batman_ do special requests?

(Well, special requests that weren't cryptic commands to get the impossible done to perfection or else. So yeah,Batz wanting Moon River did make a sort of horrible sense because he must have known that Wally couldn't recall a word of it other than the damning title.)

_(I wonder if you can still see Earth from the asteroid belt?)_

_- And strike three-yer out!-

* * *

_

_

* * *

_In their hidden nook, Tim awoke with a start from Dick's elbow in his ribs. He rubbed his eyes and blinked away the remains of his drowsiness.

"Hey, the manor is still standing! Is it over?"

"Might as well be," Dick sighed, hand over his eyes. He purposefully did not look up at where the security camera showed the stage.

Nightwing had done everything in his power to help his misfit pal: first he'd arranged that the band for the gala was made up of professionals who owed Richard Grayson one rather than Alfred, hired Hassex to make sure Wally sang Bruce's beloved memorial song to his mother who had started the Wayne charity benefits to begin with...

_Mama said there'd be days like this._

It had been the perfect plan:

Wally West could sing and pretty darn well. Dick knew it as a fact as he'd heard him a few times in the Teen Titan men's showers when the speedster was tired and thought he was alone.

Bruce would be so enthralled by Wally's rendition of Moon River that he would forgive the speedster all his past snafus. Basking in the light of Bruce's praise, his friend would gain some much need confidence..._real confidence_...not that fake bravado that Flash normally put on for public consumption.

He just hadn't factored in Wally's penchant for subconsciously sabotaging himself. Plus, his friend just had the worst luck imaginable whenever Bruce was involved. It was like their personal auras just conflicted or something.

"Oh," Tim sobered at the sight of Dick's crestfallen face. "In that case, remember I'm just the innocent kid in all of this."

* * *

A/N: I don't own anything in this story but the story itself. References are as follows:

Pinky & The Brain was a cartoon about a pair of mice out to "take over the world". One was like Luthor and the other was just dopey.

Three-hour cruise, Skipper, Professor, Howell, and Ginger were jokes on the TV sitcom Gilligan's Island where the ship passengers were stranded on a deserted island.

There is a famous song where Jingle Bells consists of varioius dogs barking to make the tune.

Circle of Life was the main theme song of Disney's The Lion King animated movie. It vaguely dealt with the concept of death and life being interconnected.

As far as I know, there are no such things as Alpine CoNutCakes, but Krack-Jack is a play on Cracker Jack's...a boxed snack with a cheesy 'toy' inside.

Truth Or Consequences was a famous TV game show.

FedEx is an international delivery service.

Yes, that was a bad parody of Star Wars.

McDougall's is a parody of McDonald's fast food chain with their 'Happy Meals'.

Clue is a mystery game.

Daisy Belle, Mona Lisa, Mama Said, Candy Mountain, and Only The Lonely song lyric snatches are older than dirt.

Peter Graves was the star of the TV version of Mission: Impossible.

Tetris is a game. As with all such fare, I imagine Wally plays them at the fastest playing speed possible.

Steve Austin was the main character of the TV show The Six Million Dollar Man...a cyborg who became a spy.

Kodak makes cameras and film. There most famous commercials featured the phrase: a Kodak moment.

If you spotted anything else it was unintentional...however if it was funny then I rescind that...it was on purpose.

If you enjoyed, please review...even if it is only to do this an emoticon or even this: wtf?


	9. Moon Reaver

A/N: Sorry. Got sidetracked posting Initiated and forgot I already had this practically written. My bad. Meanwhile, Child's Play languishes. Never, ever, forget to write more than you've last posted. It's like leaving starter dough when making sourdough bread. You don't do it and you regret it because it makes the next batch really hard to do.

I'm afraid this one is missing what would have been a final review look through by me. Honestly? Major shit happening with family right now. Not terribly in the mood for humor, so, again, good thing 90% of this was already written down.

* * *

Chapter 9: Moon Reaver

.

_"J'onn?-J'onn?-J'onn?-J'onn!-J'onn!-J'onn-J'onn-J'onN!-J'oNN!-J'ONN-J'ONN!-J'ONN!-**J'ONN!**"_

Up in the Watchtower, the Martian Manhunter nearly choked on his Alpine-CoNutCake (well, technically it had been Wonder Woman's along with the rest of the boxes he'd found stashed in her closet) when the frantic voice shouted repeatedly into his consciousness. Having seen the inevitable coming like a freight train at an oil tanker on a mine field, he'd begun to 'mute' all incoming calls in advance...for all the good that did.

_"A moment, Wallace. I am indisposed."_ (This was supposed to be his Respite-from-Flash-Headaches Hour, damn it.)

The steadily rising mental blare not only did not abate...it exponentially increased in volume, making him wince and reach for the pain-killing properties of chocolate-enhanced sugar. (Who knew The Speed Force could be utilized as a psychic amplifier by terrified velocity junkies?) Well, J'onn did. Now.

_**"JA-HAW-AH-AW-ON!"**_

_(God of Fire, just take me now.) "Yes, Wallace?"_

_"J'onn! Finally! Did you know that you had the mental phone off the hook? Just how long does it take to use the Little Martian's room? I need an old song about a moon river asap! Can you beam the lyrics to my mind? C'mon,c'mon,c'mon,c'mon,hurry,hurry,hurry..."_

_"Wallace, I believe that 'beaming' entertainment pursuits constitutes an inappropriate use of Watchtower resources per the outlines dictated by League rule number..."_

_"Chocos! I'll get you chocos! More damned chocos than the whatever-it-is rule number Batz thought up! C'mon,c'mon,c'mon,c'mon,hurry,hurry,hurry..."_

_"Twenty-four-two-eight-B, nor am I a licensed satellite broadcast provider offering basic and/or premium channels and as such I can not be acquiescing to every whim that comes... "_

_"Twenty-four-two-eight... Seriously? Is there a decimal in there somewhere? Maybe after the zero?"_

_"At the end, Wallace. Only at the end." _(The same location I'm at on that proverbial rope.)_  
_

_Ah...that's...eh...that's a...lot. Chock-full-kind'a-lot. Have you considered the dangers of diabetes here? I mean, it's not a worry for me, naturally, but..."_

_"I am not susceptible to diabetes. Or hypoglycemia. Now if that is all, I must bid you goodbye..."_

_"Two-thousand and twenty-eight BellyBuster sized bags of chocos! All yours!"_

J'onn swallowed. It was tempting. Very tempting. However...

_"You are broke, Wallace."_

_"Why, thank you, J'onn my unsolicited personal accountant. Can we quibble-over-silly-details-like-that-later, please?"_

_"_Goodbye_, Wallace."_

_Okay-okay-okay! Next payday every single penny of mine goes towards chocolate-covered fake-fat J'onn kibble! But you'll have to be getting your own laxatives for after. Flash delivery has a weight limit."_

_"Would we be negotiating with Double fill or the quantity version of fake fat?"_

_"J'onn, stop trying to take advantage-"_

Wally spotted Bruce _(the civvies-wearing incognito version of The Goddamn Batman Who Liked Moon River which would be flowing with Wally's blood if Wally didn't get it right and now and-dear god!)_

Wayne was at the threshold of a side room with Selina Kyle, alias The Suck-A-Bus, in tow. (And wasn't this whole thing with her last name just making him want to rethink his friendship with Raynor. Not that Kyle Raynor the Green Lantern had anything truly in common with a Suck-A-Bus seeing as the guy couldn't land a decent date even if he made a power ring construct of one.)

Bruce and Selina were kissing.

_Kissing?_

Bruce was letting Suck-A-Bus Selina _kiss_ him?

On the _lips?_

_Was he crazy? Didn't he realize what she was?  
_

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that the End of the World is nigh: The Batman has lost his mind. God help us all."

* * *

'Kay. He was going to think this out and not act impulsively irrational and zoom over there and hit her over the head with the champagne fountain thingee. He was going to strategize really, really, fast because the clock was ticking away the microseconds like little booms of doom and it looked hopeless; but he was going to think this out first because obviously the Suck-A-Bus was a wielder of demonic magic of extreme power because _no way_ would the broody 'Mr. No-Man-Is-An-Island-Excluding-The Batman' be snogging a soul-stealing Suck-A-Bus of his own free will unless the world was on Tilt.

Logically, he must have already tried to get in contact with the League and failed because Diana was not here knocking Suck-A-Bus towards Pluto and J'onn was apparently clueless to the danger because he hadn't mentioned anything about any evil-demon-spawn-on-the-make and in the vicinity. Now here Bruce was without the benefit of his utility belt containing whatever Batman had for fending off Suck-A-Buses. Therefore Bruce Wayne was utterly defenseless against having his soul sucked out by a mystical vacuum cleaner with pouty lips.

So it was up to Wally West to save the Batman.

Which was as likely as Flash being given the keys to the batmobile to go pick up a loaf of bread for Alfred.

_'I wonder if Dick will let me have the robot dinosaur after the reading of Bruce's will? And maybe a spare exploding batarang or other. Just for old memories.'_

Gah! No bad selfish thoughts allowed!

Besides, he doubted a T-Rex would fit within the Saturnian Police spaceship carry-on luggage limit when he was carted off to the Asteroid belt even if he could argue that it was perfect for mining work: just look at what Fred Flintstone had been able to accomplish with a brontosaur.

Hold on...what if Bruce already knew 'Selina' was going to be at his party where he'd be most vulnerable? Knowing Batz, he'd have researched Suck-A-Buses on the Bat Computer beforehand and found a weakness that would knock the demoness on her pretty-danged-hot butt and thus save all the sex-starved men of Gotham City from dying happy.

_'I meant from dying soulless. Not happy. Definitely not happy. No._

_Okay, maybe kind'a happy._

_A little.'_

_Darn. Why did evil have to be so tempting whenever it wore a dress?_

_Not to imply that Darkseid or Luthor would look better in a frock._

_Ew!_

_If his brain kept up this kind of imagery he was going to go blind before puberty was fully kicked out of his system.  
_

Anyway, Batz must know about Selina's more kinky side. Ergo...the lyrics of those 'special request' things were...most likely...pieces of some anti-magic, magical ritual incantation magicalness that had to be sung in order so as to keep demonic possessors from ascending into Gotham. Hell, this made so much sense it might well be the plot of a movie blockbuster (or at least something that had been shown on Mystery 3000 Theater!) It explained everything! Why else would Bruce want to make sure such utterly boring stuff was sung out loud where there was supposed to be entertainment flowing around people? It was part of The Caped Crusader's master plan to deliver the world from evil hot babes!

Stop! Stop. Already went down that thought avenue and he really shouldn't make a return trip right now even if it had been the scenic drive. Nope, what was important was that everything was going to be fine now because Batz was so brilliant. He had hired a musical group to sing the Anti-Suck-A-Bus magical incantations jigsaw puzzle for him!

Go, Batz!

(Dang, but Batman was always prepared for nigh every contingency. And they called Supes the Boy Scout? Batz was like the Grand-Master at Boy Scout Badge holding. They were probably all displayed in the Batcave trophy somewhere. He'd have to take a look after he was reincarnated.

'..."

Hopefully not as a Bat kid, because he'd hate to have Batz as his dad since it was hard enough getting dates during this lifetime.)

It was just a real bummer that the band's singer had gone and got himself smashed beforehand and really laid Batz's plan into the garbage heap even if he wasn't a famous speedster.

Of course this unforeseen snafu meant only one thing:

_-Wally-_ was now, by default, the unexpected bottom-of the utility belt last-ditch savior of Batz and humanity.

Aw, dammit...when opportunity came knocking, it sure liked to go at it with a sledgehammer. Yes, he'd wished on the chicken bone he'd hacked up from his last McDougall snack for an opportunity to impress Batman, but that vindictive dead bird was being totally unreasonable here!

_*sigh*_

_Everyone was always asking the impossible of him:_

_(Flash, don't take the pizza in the fridge marked 'Don't Take The Pizza, Flash Or So Help Me!')_

_(Flash, stop zipping through the channels so fast. That's three TV remotes you've fried since yesterday.)_

_(Flash, stop zoning out during meetings. At least don't do it while staring at Diana's breast plate. Maintenance says that having to dislodge you on a weekly basis is not doing that ventilation shaft any good.)_

_(Flash, save the world and Batz from a sultry Suck-A-Bus after his and every man's family jewels.)_

_Well. okay then.  
_

He'd rescue everyone from a sex demon hell bent on sucking all the virile males like himself dry all...by himself with no help whatsoever. Why if you looked at the situation sideways it might even be mistaken for a no-lose scenario.

No problem.

None at all.

Simplicity itself.

Except he wasn't Batman nor had he the chance to research sex demons!

(Well, except for that one time Zatanna had left her magic book open. But that was just because the article and picture had looked so stimulating.

'I mean _interesting_.

As in 'the article being' interesting.

_Because I am so not into drawings of raging hot demon babes with really big...yeah, and those...with the side order of...and.._

_You know, how bad could it actually be without your soul?_

Crud.

Damned Suck-A-Bus was messing with his mind even at a distance.

Anyway, the point was that for all he knew, Suck-A-Buses were in the same category as vampires and zombies.

Holy arch supports...

What if once drained of his soul by a Suck-A-Bus, Bruce was turned into a rampaging Ink-U-Batz out to eat people's brains?

_Sure, Wally would probably be safe as Bruce had always declared his gray matter to be of less than stellar quality, but what if he decided to start out with a comparison taste test...worst to best?  
_

_

* * *

_

_"Wallace? Are you still there?"_ J'onn asked.

_"Triple fill! Two-thousand, twenty-four bags worth of TRIPLE FILL!"_

There was a pause before the Martian's wistful thought came back to him.

_"They make a Triple-Fill Choco?"_

_"I'll unscrew 'em and make them Triple! Really desperate here! __I need that song! TRIPLE-FILL CHOCOS, J'ONN! __Oh, man, my life has already passed before my eyes enough times that I can quote whole sections of the dialogue and it's not exactly Academy Award material because it's too darn short for even the Life-Action Short Film category and that's a clear sign that I'm too young to die at the hands of a a fanged zombified Incu-Bus-Batz who is after my brain!"_

_(Inku-whatsis? What by the gods of Mars and lunatic asylums was Flash on about now?) "I find that highly unlikely, Wallace."_

_"Hey, we've both got a Galactic Space Patrol guy who glows green because of a giant kerosene lamp and matching jewelry's phone number on our speed dial. I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt here?"_

_"Then it is a deal. I'll have to translate the words into English as best I can and fit them into the tune I hear them playing from your mind. Repeat after me."_

_"A gentleman's gentleman does not repeat that the rain in Spain lies mainly in the plain," Wally automatically responded before he could catch himself._

_"Pardon?"_

_"Just pipe down those karaoke lyrics, J'onn."_

_

* * *

_

"You know, Bruce, I'm not sure I'm familiar with that song. Granted, I'm still on the young and vigorous side of life, so maybe it's just too ancient and forgotten to recall..." Selina mused after she had initiated another kiss from the man on her arm. Well, the man currently holding her arm in a death grip. Not that she minded. She'd even accept handcuffs as long as it wasn't followed by a trip to jail.

"The hell was this?" Bruce stared at the stage where the singer was...singing something really odd and unexpected.

* * *

_"Moon Reaver, damn your sorry hide,_

_Your thievery will end one day._

_Oh Moon Taker, you scummy raker_,

_We'll wrest our third satellite back some day..._

_Two drifters lonely for their sister,_

_Shining brighter than-"_

* * *

Tim had a 'what-the-fuck' expression on his face. "Dick...I thought the next song was going to be..."

"It was," Dick nearly moaned and for once in his long career considering drinking while on the job. Oh the heck, why not? This situation warranted it, didn't it? Because this had really been a bad idea. He pulled out a can of Booster soder and started guzzling it down.

"Oh," Tim played with his fingers as his older almost-a-sibling let out a noise of distress. "Dick?"

"Yeah?" Richard responded with a whimper.

"This was really a bad idea." He paused. "Don't take this wrong, but...if someone you love ever seems in the dumps some day in the future...a greeting card will suffice." He recoiled from Nightwing's scowling regard. "Hey, just saying. Don't forget I'm the innocent kid here."

* * *

Wally was getting the feeling something was not quite right. It could be the what-the-fuck expressions on people's faces. He pretended to have a coughing fit in order to share his concerns.

_"Uh...J'onn?"_

_"Yes, Wallace?"_

_"Are you sure these are the right lyrics?"_

_"Quite positive, Wallace. M'eune R'evr was on the Top 20 charts for several Sol rotations when a popular writer of fiction postulated that the third moon of Mars was stolen from us by the Earth millions of years ago."_

_"Well, far be it from me to question it, but it's only that my audience is looking at me funny..."_

_Wait...by Earth? "J'onn, you're having me sing something from an ancient Martian Hit Parade?"_

_"You had specifically asked for an old song, Wallace; plus, I did mention I needed to translate it from the original."_

_"I thought you meant from the original French or something!"_

_"There was no advanced stipulation as to a point of origin. Besides, it is a beautiful romantic song dealing with the loneliness of Phobos and Deimos after Earth wooed away their lovely sister R'evr from Mar's gravitational-"_

Wally tuned him out just long enough to check on Bruce Wayne's situation.

Thank goodness! Suck-A-Bus and Bruce had disengaged lip lock and were now moving towards his direction.

Well, that wasn't _necessarily_ a good development. In fact, you could call it downright sucky because if she had Batz under her thrall then she was probably coming over here for dessert.


	10. Zombie Jamboree

A/N: Disclaimer at end.

It's becoming abundantly clear that every time I attempt to beta this some things comes up to stop me...and I mean that literally...some _things_. Ugly, creepy, hateful _things_. So here's chapter 10 while I still recall what the plot was. Sorry it's not going to be it's best.

Edit: Thank you's to Amethyst Asheryn and Dark Inu Fan for pointing out some errors.

* * *

Chapter 10: Zombie Jamboree

Seeing Bruce Wayne coming at him, Wally couldn't help but want to panic. It never really mattered whether Bruce was Wayne or Batman, in his right mind or left his mind; the older man was scary like some sort of Universal Parent of Vengeance when angry and that made Wally's body produce and dump into his bloodstream all sorts of overly excitable chemicals with no idea what to do with themselves than to start pushing things to move like 'now and this instant'. It was that Payload's Dog experiment thing Wally had once read about. The one with the bell and the food: _conditioned response_.

_See Scowly Bruce = Utter Panic._

And since the best place to respond to the condition of utter panic was on a continuous running surface...

...

The frustrated conductor gaped as their supposed singer suddenly jump down from the stage.

Unfortunately, a graceful dismount it was not.

One foot landed on the edge of the table holding the large, crystal punch bowl and matching cups which sent the lot crashing to the floor. Something Wally figured afterward would never have happened if Alfred had let him wear decently soled boots while working at the mansion rather than these silly dress shoes with soles more slippery than a Rogue's.

Honestly.

The only thing God _meant_ to be smooth as a baby's bum was what went _on_ a baby's bum. You didn't put treads on the outside of a diaper, did you? Certainly not. Maybe speed plaster on a few _decorative Flash-logo_ racing stripes to the contestants at the Baby Derby event during Flash Appreciation Day... but not treads. So why would you file down the craggy artwork on shoe soles until they were as smooth as an ankle-biter's backside? Just what genius thought up footwear that lacked traction?

Anyway, strictly because fashion was nonsensical most of the liquid landed on his head.

People screamed.

_Piercingly._

You'd think he was _dying_ because of a little mishap:

.

"Somebody call my laundry service!"

"Somebody call Paris Couture, I just bought these sandals!"

"Somebody call the waiters for more champagne!"

.

Okay, so maybe his welfare was not their first concern._ These people are here to support charity? Give me a break._

.

"Somebody get a doctor! He's bleeding on the imported parquet! (Oh the humanity...)"

.

Bleeding? Morons. That was just the stupid champagne soda-ah..._ah-AH!_

Wally almost screamed like a girl when he saw the dark liquid dripping down from his head.

* * *

Yeah...'almost' is a rather vague term. When you think of it, the human larynx has the capability of a range of sounds. Take for instance, the difference between a young girl's and a grown woman's scream: a woman's has a bit more deepness to it. Richness of tone.

_(Unless it was Faye Wray regretting her date with King Kong. That woman could screech like a banshee with a broken toe.)_

Now a boy's scream was deeper than a woman's scream -don't let those boy's choirs fool you. They might sound girlish, but to a practiced ear, they really are just on the higher-pitched side of the cusp of manhood.

Much like Wally's scream. It might have -_sounded_- girlish...but it wasn't.

Not to a practiced ear.

Wally's scream was _-almost-_ like that of a girl, but was really like a boy's on the _macho_ side of the cusp of manhood.

...

Anyone who claimed differently was going to get a punch in the snoot.

* * *

Oh wait...that wasn't blood at all. That was...

Green eyes widened in horrified realization.

Wally snatched at a silk table doily while telling himself that it wasn't detrimental at all to a man's self esteem to be seen wearing a babushka when the alternative was for his body to be in a state of mortal peril via being used for batarang target practice simply because Murphy's Law hated speedsters with red hair and Personal Circumstances were out to get him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Wayne had (not that this was by any means unusual) abandoned his date of the evening in order to stalk off after a criminal.

...

Enough was enough!

His guests were talking about this party and not for the right reasons. In the space of one evening, a lone human being had not only managed to create a caviar bombardment on multiple patrons, publicly accused an (admittedly promiscuous) woman of being a demonic slut -and- attacked Selina with silverware, but he'd also succeeded in thoroughly stuffing up the night's collection of music -_including his traditional song request-_ so badly it was unrecognizable. One, simple, song! _His mother's favorite song!_ Bruce was in a bad mood and wanted an explanation from _somebody_ as to why this evening had become a shambles due to the activities of a single person. Stuff like this just didn't happen to Bruce Wayne. To _Batman_, sure, and not just with his Rogues what with the crazy people they let into the Watchtower roster like Booster Gold, Plastic Man, and Flash. Any of those three allowed to roam unsupervised were a recipe for disaster in The Watchtower. That's why he'd banned the first two from coming anywhere near his home. Bruce would have banned Flash as well if he wasn't a fellow Founder and upon Clark's insistence that the man was not all that bad.

Which proved once again that Super Intelligence was not on the long list of Superman's biological advantages.

Batman + Plasticman/Flash/Booster Gold (in) The Watchtower = migraine. It was a simple, mathematical equation.

Now here at the upper level of the Wayne mansion where Alfred kept out an eagle eye for trouble? Bruce's refuge from insanity?

Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen (unless Flash was about, but he wasn't so that was moot.) The Mansion was Bruce Wayne's castle of sanity.

That was, until recently _-specifically-_ the past month. Little, aggravating things that gradually increased like dramatically larger laundry and food bills, Alfred and Tim acting like they expected the roof to fall down at any moment. The roof _actually falling down at one moment. _Sonic The Hedgehog gaming software left on auto repeat play down on the Batcomputer until a sixteenth of the main hard drive had been filled with win scores. Just _odd_ things that had culminated into...

The so-called singer had jumped down and created more havoc. That man was a walking catastrophe. Possibly right on par with West..who was probably still pretending to be unavailable for League missions just to piss Batman off.

East...West. His life was being besieged from both sides like some sort of reenactment of the Charge of Light Brigade. All he needed now was for a Mr. South and Mrs. North to show up and crack the Batcave ceiling.

Bruce couldn't see Ground Zero very well as yet as too many other people were blocking his view; however, the sound of crystal shattering and his guests screaming gave him a hint that all did not bode well.

By the angle of Clark's spit curl, this additional catastrophe hadn't helped his disposition! Still, Mr. East apparently was badly hurt and in need of medical aid. He couldn't deny a man that no matter how irksome he'd proven to be.

Bruce shouldered his way past the last few onlookers, ready to offer medical assistance.

Instead he stood there gaping like a fish out of water as East frantically tried to hide his soda-soaked hair with a flimsy cloth now thoroughly stained a deep black.

Bits of lank ginger-orange peeked out from the ruined cloth.

At that moment Bruce Wayne had an epiphany that not even the strongest Martian manipulation could bury even if said Martian had not gotten himself three sheets to the solar winds a tad earlier:

.

_Blue-Black/Ginger-orange._

_East/West._

_Walking catastrophe/Running catastrophe._

_Most Intelligent Man Alive's Home/Fastest Man Alive in same.  
_

_.  
_

"You!" Bruce snarled in a fit of rage. "I'm going to _kill_ you!"

Only it came out as a sort of strangled growl.

* * *

"YAUWr! AHmGAHgTaKIYAUW!"

Oh hell! Batz was standing over him, growling unintelligibly like a mindless beast! Dear God, it really was too late: the best and brightest of the League had become a mindless, slavering, carnivorous zombie Ink-U-Batz!

Time to beam back up to the U.S.S. Watchtower.

_

* * *

-"J'onn!"-_

-"What goes on, Ron?"-

-"Teleport me out of here quick!"-

-"No can do, Stu."-

-"But...! J'onn, this is _Wally_. Are you okay?"-

-"J'onny is better than okay, Ray. He is B.O.O.M.M'd."-

-"B.O...Bombed Out Of... You're saying you're _stinko while on Monitor Duty? J'onn, if Batz finds out you are screwed!"_-

-"It's okay, Wala-Wallabingbang. I have a designated driver in hand.") J'onn smiled fondly at the tool standing up in his glass of fermented pineapple juice. -"Right, Phillip?"-

-"Let me get this straight. I'm going to die in such a mangled configuration that will make for one conversation piece of a coffin, and you're dating a screwdriver?"-

-"Well, if you are going to insult him..."-

-"No, J'onn! Don't hang up!"-

*click* *btzz*

* * *

So his best escape route was soused. No biggie. He had alternatives.

"Help?"

The band members shrugged and started playing the famous Beatle's song.

"..." Well, heck. Not exactly what he had in mind, but it _was_ kind of motivating.

.

Mr. Hassex stood helplessly watching as Mr. East (who's hair was now a calico of ebbing ebony and glistening ginger) scrambled to his feet and started dodging around the patrons. The man was heading in the general direction of the orchestra's exit way -breaking into a warbled version of the ongoing tune as he went- an irate looking Bruce Wayne in hot pursuit. West sounded terrified.

.

"When I was younger, so much younger than today,  
I never needed anybody's help in any way.  
But now those days are gone, I'm not so self assured,  
_Now I find I've changed my mind and wanna open up these doors!"_

Grabbing the two handles, Wally yanked them apart and ran-

-straight into a very rotund man bearing a drink in one hand and an umbrella in the other. The collision sent him bouncing off the fellow's waistcoat.

_"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down..."_

Damn it, he was falling. The urge not to do so took over. He reached out to steady himself._..  
_

_"And I do appreciate you being round."_

Thankfully, due to the man's girth there was plenty of 'opportunity' to grab hold of something. The fat man's champagne drink slopped from the side of the glass when Wally snagged him by his jacket lapel. This caused his whole body to pivot and half swing around in a partial circle until he struck the man's back. The mass of fat at that side stopping him from doing a face plant into the tiled surface like some form of over-sized dance floor air bag. It was a pity his right foot landed smack into the wetness of the spilled champagne, sending that appendage sliding out from under him. Something small went flying from his jacket pocket onto the floor.

_*quack*_

The obese fellow raised an eyebrow upon seeing the object. He smiled. One of the most nastiest, avarice-ridden smiles Wally had ever seen. He turned his head to see what the man was looking at and felt a chill go down his spine.

Oh no! He scrambled to get his feet back into a usable position.

_"Help me get my feet back on the ground..." _

_Flash Ducky! His silicone sidekick was in trouble!  
_

The man tried to push him aside, intent on getting to the small mass of yellow and red rubber wearing a batwing cape. Wally pushed back and did a somersault dive for Flash Ducky, snatching up the bath toy and regaining his feet in one acrobatic move. Now he had his good-luck pal back, but was very turned around. Which direction to take? This was important because the would-be toy kidnapper was taking aim at him with his...umbrella? That fired ammo? Seriously?)

_Somebody has been watching too much Harry Potter._

Just to be on the safe side, Wally risked a bit of super speed in order to plug the weapon's barrel with some extra gooey and patently delicious Macadamia Nut Butter.

Which was a damned crime right there.

"And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,  
My independence seems to vanish in the haze."

(Gods...was that Ink-U-Batz gaining on him from behind the enraged carnivorous beach ball with a bunged-up ballistic 'brella?) That decided that. He took off in the opposite direction.

_"But every now and then I feel so insecure,_  
_I know that I just need you (J'onn!) like I've never done before."_

_-"J'onn!"-_

_Instead of a live-time feed, canned music started coming over the pre-recorded telepathic message:_

_-" Moon Reaver.."_

_"This is J'onn J'onzz. __He regrets to inform you that he is not in right now as he has put in for and signed his own extended vacation release. __Please leave a message after the song...  
_

_"...Two drifters lonely for their sister,_

_Shining brighter than the sun._

_We're after just revenge: Earth's end,_

_It's just round the bend,_

_My scummy blue-skied friend,_

_(...via meteor-bombardment trends)  
_

_Moon Reaver, you'll see."-_

_*beep!*  
_

_

* * *

_

By the time the message was over, Wally had reached the side door and was turning the knob. Escape was in his grasp.

_Crap! _Ollie?

A cross-eyed Ollie Queen was standing in the middle of the threshold, moaning like one of the undead with his hands over his crotch. A smug Dinah was still in the act of bringing down her bent left knee. She smiled nastily at the archer. Both of them were inadvertently blocking his escape.

Or was it accidental?

Was Queen a victim of zombification as well as Bruce? Had Dinah been turned into a Sucky by Selina in order to double the speed of her takeover?

Black Canary sure the hell looked rather demonic as she preened, gloated rather smugly at her handiwork.

Wally backed away from the moaning Green Arrow only to bump into someone else. He stammered an apology, but the guy looked drunk.

Come to think of it...was it his imagination or was everyone but the supernatural culprit staring at him with glazed looks?

Oh man...the Suck-A-Bus had been busy. She'd turned the entire gala into a-

_"Zombie Jamboree!"_ the beleaguered West exclaimed. (He was trapped in a creepy old mansion with zombies!)

_The orchestra members paused and switched tunes from The Beatles to Harry Belafonte.  
_

_Wally turned and ran in another direction, swerving around the various 'zombies' in what had become a mad dance for survival. Unconscious Brain switched to auto-pilot in order to distract Conscious Brain from approaching death. The harried speedster started singing along to the new music, mentally adding his own spin to half-remembered lyrics.  
_

_"It was a Zombie Jamboree,_

_Took place at a Gotham benefit bee._  
_ It was a Zombie Jamboree!_  
_ Took place at a Gotham benefit bee."_

(Duck, twist, leap, spin! Cannot let the Zombies win!)

_"Zombies from all parts of The Mainland:_  
_ Most of whom once denture'd Geriatrians._  
_ Although the reason started Congenial,_  
_ They got hexed by Ms. Bacchanal._  
_ And I not be seeing..."_

(Where the hell was Tim? Where the hell was Superman? Where the hell was Buffy the Vampire Slayer?)

Finding himself in front of the orchestra's service door, Wally flung it open so hard the outside handle left a dent in the plaster before it swung halfway back from sheer momentum.

_Oh no!_

Dick and Tim were on the other side, frozen in horror like Wally was the Herald of the Apocalypse standing before their eyes.

Dick started slowly turning blue; a pale Tim reached forward and yanked the door shut again. The lock clicked.

_God, even Nightwing and Robin were among the soulless!_

"Their Lips a'smack; thoughts of belly,  
J'onn don't give a damn, so I'm dead already.  
Oh, Heck! Brain's a snack; legs are jelly,  
At the Zombie Jamboree."

(Crap! Stupid, damned Sucky Lady at 2 o'clock!

Cackling evilly and reaching out for whatever she could grab.

Go ahead...laugh it up. Just keep those suction lips and hands _off!_)

"One female demon wouldn't behave  
See what a mess of things, she's made.  
In one hand's got Bruce all dumb;  
(On the other hand she wanting my bum.)  
This singer believing all not fine,  
'Cause Zombies are inviting for dinnertime.  
This speedster had this to say:  
T'would a pleasure to make my get-a-away."

(Ha! Made it! Now I just have to run like...)

A grim faced Zombie Alfred was standing in front of the double wides, holding a mop and bucket, blocking his escape. Wordlessly, he held out the implements of torture.

(Hell.)

Gulping, Wally did an about face and renewed his swerving dance, taking another direction, eyes wildly looking for a safe route. He saw only chaos everywhere.

Man, it was a good thing he was about to be eaten by a dozen mindless zombies. Otherwise he'd have to face something far, far, worse...

"WALLACE RUDOLPH WEST, YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER IMBECILE!"

Namely, a completely rational, yet utterly pissed off Bruce (Batman) Wayne.

* * *

Disclaimers: Zombie Jamboree was sung by Harry Belafonte; Help by the Beatles. Changes to the lyrics were my own twisted brain's idea. I don't know who owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer or rubber duckies, but they must be insanely rich by now. DC owns Justice League and Batman.


	11. For Whom The Bell Tolls

a/n: I've finally had my eye aches and floaties diagnosed: severe lack of inositol since birth (I was very premature) has let my eyeballs deteriorate. I'm not supposed to watching a glowing screen for very long. This is pretty depressing as all my loves (save music) are found on said glowing screen (and even a lot of that music.) So...here I am flaunting the rules in order to get this out. Most was pre-typed anyway. Hopefully I can finish it just one more chapter.

* * *

Kinetics 11: For Whom The Bell Tolls

The party was over with all the patrons and hired help sent home to recuperate before they began adding to the gossip mills. The only thing that was saving Wally from deep depression was impending exhaustion and the fact that Bruce was elsewhere rather than in his face lecturing about how incompetent the speedster was.

Since seeing his guests off, Wayne had been in a closeted conference with Selina Kyle and Dick. Pennyworth had gone over to a secretary desk and was busy writing.

(They say the pen is mightier than the sword. Wally had to agree there, because _no way in hell_ could a sword be more alarming -or annoying- than the interminable 'scritch scritch' of that pen as it traveled over the paper.)

Probably Wally's walking papers. Or Alfred's Last Will & Testament. Maybe the butler would let Wally borrow some paper so he could do the same before Bats killed them both?

Every now and then, Wally could make out the sounds of yelling and glaring coming from beyond the rosewood doors of Bruce's office. (Well, maybe not the _glaring_, but that part was a given wherever Bruce was a participant in talks.) Tim had long since been sent to his room presumably to contemplate the wisdom of not associating with Wally or anyone on the planet who shared the surname of West.

As for the guilty party? Wally had been threatened with having his shoes nailed to the floor -_with his feet still in them, mind you_- if he so much as moved an inch from the corner of the room he'd been relegated to.

That's right, he'd been sent to stand in the corner.

It was all so extravagantly unfair, really, because at any age Time Outs were sheer torture when you were the fastest man alive. Wally would have let the shroud of sleep cover his mind, but was afraid of what method either Alfred or Bruce might decide to use to wake him from his nap. If he was alert he held a small hope of dodging the worst of The Bat's pointy objects.

Wally was allergic to pointy object...they made him break out in all manner of skin conditions like cuts and scrapes.

Alfred finished up whatever he was doing at the secretary desk and walked over to him. Stifling a yawn, Wally glanced at the...list of chores? He opened his mouth to protest at the sheer length of things he'd been given to do. It would take 15 minutes at the least -not to mention being grounded for until such time as the Powers That Be deemed fit. However, Wally looked up to see Alfred's hard face and meekly decided he'd better just get started on them.

"Yakkity, yak, don't talk back?" The butler didn't crack a sliver of a smile at his reference to The Coaster's classic; but his eyes held a gleam of agreement. Probably not a good sign and -wow- he really needed to start keeping his mouth shut.

"Indeed, Mister West." Alfred's cool gaze shifted towards the cleaning tools.

Sighing, Wally grabbed the waiting mop and trash bucket and started humming as he cleaned:

.

"Take out the papers and the trash  
Or you don't get no spendin' cash.  
If you don't scrub that ballroom floor,  
You ain't gonna walk and run no more.

_Yakety yak (don't talk back)_

Just finish cleanin' up that room.  
Let's see that dust fly with that broom!  
Get all that garbage out of sight.  
Or you won't live to see tonight.

_Yakety yak (don't talk back)_

You just put on your coat and hat  
And jog yourself to the Laundromat;  
And when you finish doing that,  
Bring in the dog and put out the cat  
Yakety yak (don't talk back)

Don't you give me no dirty looks  
Your boss's hip; he knows what cooks  
Just tell your hoodlum friend outside  
You ain't got time to take a ride."

He was almost finished when the door to Bruce's office opened with all of the solemnity of The Gates of Doom. Watching from the corner of his eye, Wally saw Dick escort Selina Kyle out the door under the watchful glare of Pennyworth. Her looks of sympathy cast his way had not helped matters. (You knew you were truly damned when even a demon felt pity for you.) Oh sure, Alfred had spent ten minutes lecturing him on how incubuses and succubi were simply not allowed in Wayne Manor, nor was Selina Kyle (technically) anything but 100% human even if she did share some textbook suck-a-bus qualities. Wally wasn't fooled, though; suck-a-buses were _sneaky_. Almost as sneaky as Batman. Wally shivered as she went by.

Now, Dick, would be another matter. Dick was his best buddy. His comrade in arms. The only one of the Teen Titans who could actually look Batman in the eye and not flinch...for at least the first ten seconds! Dick would...

Walk on by like Wally didn't even exist.

Clearly, Nightwing had received another 'my way or the highway' speech along with colored presentation graphics, because Dick refused to even raise his eyes from the floor as he trudged past his friend out to where his motorcycle was presumably waiting for him. Sure enough, the speedster could hear the sound of it taking off and wished he could do the same: the highway was infinitely preferable right now to living under Batman's roof...especially what would surely be technically in under The Batman Doghouse roof.

Okay, not exactly "in the doghouse" because Bruce actually seemed to _like_ Ace and that mutt lived like royalty amongst canines.

This was all assuming Bruce let him continue to exist at all. Wally had never seen Bruce look so pissed as he had just before he had called the gala officially at an end. Nobody, it seemed, was to be spared his wrath.

"Alfred." Bruce fairly snarled through the opened office door.

_Nobody._

The butler visibly paled when Wayne's summons came.

"Ask not for whom the bell tolls..." He squared his shoulders and gamely entered the room, closing the door securely behind him. Wally hastily resumed swabbing down the last of the floor, knowing it would be for not as he'd be next to suffer Batman's considerable ire and it would be soon stained with his blood anyway. He muttered under his breath:

"Yakety yak (don't talk back)  
Yakety yak, yakety yak  
Yakety yak, yakety yak  
Yakety yak, yakety yak."

.

* * *

"They all meant well, sir."

Bruce's dark eyes pinned him to the wall. "Mary Mallon _meant_ well; people died. The backers of the Titanic _meant_ well; people died. The road to Hell, Alfred...the road to Hell is one of the best paved roads ever built." The irritated man gestured to where the ruined ball had taken place. "When it comes to Flash, that road is always as wide as a superhighway either of his own making or with the help of his...friends." He sat down in a humph. "I want West gone by morning. Sooner if possible and we both know that's very possible."

Alfred closed his eyes. Lord knew he wasn't terribly pleased with his student either, but in his view Master Bruce was being unreasonable. There was more to consider here than just Mr. West's emotional devastation that this verdict would bring...there were also the feelings of Tim and Richard. What they had intended was commendable if ill thought out. Even there, if they had felt safe in bringing Bruce into their plans it might have worked out well after all instead of the disaster it had become due to the foundation of lies laid out at the onset.

"Sir, perhaps before you make such a hasty decision you should consider all the facts."

Bruce leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms...the very picture of doubt. "Such as?"

"No one starts out perfect." Alfred noted his matured ward stiffen a little more.

"I never said..."

"Do you know, sir, masters Richard and Timothy utilized quite the network of resources in order to attain a goal. Regardless that the goal was not achieved, their effort was founded on teamwork...skills and teamwork you yourself know are vital for survival in the...family business."

Bruce's countenance hardened. "They failed."

"Yes. They made mistakes that they will now learn from and strive not to repeat. Would you not say that it was better for them to learn them here within the Wayne manor rather than...well, while pitted against one such as The Joker?"

Bruce grunted in reluctant agreement. "I suppose your right." Wally was annoying, true, but a mistake while dealing with any of his Rogues could well prove fatal. The thought was one of his greatest sources of nightmares.

"As for my own part in this I accept full blame. I should have informed you that I had taken on an apprentice while working under your roof and would be teaching him here." Before Bruce could comment on that, Alfred continued, "While I cannot condone Mr. West's sneaking out to attend the party in the first place, the lad was convinced that you were compromised by the magical wiles of a suck-a-bus..." (Alfred here gave a light cough and nearly rolled his eyes at the mangled word that had made it's unwanted company amongst his own sterling vocabulary) "er..a _succubus_ with designs on turning you into a 'brain-supping, undead fiend'. The disaster was directly attributable to an attempt to save you and your guests from the machinations of paranormal evil." He paused again to let that sink in. "Considering that he holds some fear of the supernatural realms, Mr. West's actions bespoke of both courage and loyalty to this household. In other words, qualities I personally found admirable in a certain other young man I know. Perhaps you should cut the boy some _slack_...sir? Or need I regale the boys with some tales of the early days of The Batman's not-so-well-devised exploits?"

Bruce actually winced. He had near perfect recall...which in some instances was not a blessing.

_'Dear god, was Alfred there that time I...?_' Of course he was. All the other times as well like that mishap with the glider's engagement system right when he was spying on Catwoman. (Who said cats didn't like to bathe?) Or when he'd finally cashed in the old driver's learning permit for the real thing only in his excitement to hit JET PROPEL instead of BRAKE while attempting to parallel park. It had taken Gordon a full week to stop shaking after he'd zoomed by the commissioner and nearly taken out the man's toes in addition to the northwest wall of city hall. Facing down the Croc and pulling out Dick's misplaced toy batarang from his belt rather than the real thing...

Trying to maneuver the dinosaur into it's permanent trophy space...hitting the wrong button...listening to Alfred's faint yells as it ate him...

"You wouldn't." Alfred was his friend and confidante and wouldn't harm Batman's image in such an underhanded way. On the other hand, Alfred was insanely loyal to anyone he felt deserved it (though how Wally West managed to earn this status, Bruce was truly flummoxed on.) Had he backed the man into a corner?

"Wouldn't I?" Alfred raised an eyebrow in defiance. "You of all people know how seriously I take the job of guardianship. Until either of us ends the contract, Mr. West is my responsibility for good or ill. I stand by him, Master Bruce. As much as it will no doubt at times pain me to do so, I will do for him as I have done for you."

_Damn._

Bruce drummed his fingers once upon his desktop.

"All right. I'll give him another chance."

"Very good, sir, and if I may so a wise decision."

"Don't push it, Alfred."

"Then I will endeavor to pull instead. The boy considers you one of his heroes, Master Bruce. I was not going to say, but the whole reason he came here was because he wanted to present you with a gift and his own service was all he had to offer. Right now I imagine he's feeling like mince meat. I -could- be the one to point out the silver lining of this night, but I think it would come better from you." With that Alfred made so bold as to open the door to invite his ward in. "Mr. West, if you would be so kind as to join us?" A few seconds went by. Then some more. "Mr. West?" Puzzled by the speedster's tardiness, Alfred looked out the doorway for the red head only to sigh in dismay: the ballroom -although sparkling clean and put to rights once more- was rather empty of sentient life. "Oh dear."

Wallace West was gone. In his place was a note and a tiny Superman cape, adhesive taped to a priceless oil painting. Alfred snatched it down, reading aloud:

_

* * *

Dear, Mr. Pennyworth or Mr. Wayne should Mr. Pennyworth no longer be employed there:_

_Not that it will help any, but I'm sorry about everything and...well, I'm going away for awhile because I'm pretty sure nobody is going to wish to see me anytime soon so this is for the best. Say goodbye to Tim and Dick for me when they aren't so mad anymore. I'd ask you to say goodbye to Bruce except he'll probably see my absence as even better than any words.  
_

_Don't worry, you can keep my pay in place of the damages I couldn't fix up to your standards. I hope the tux and other neat things you got me can be returned?  
_

_Btw: I tried to dissuade him, but Flash Ducky insisted on following me into exile. What could I do? However, I did tell him he should return the Batman Ducky cape. I trust he did this as I kind of had something in my eye at the time and couldn't verify it._

_P.S. A bag of your home-baked cookies insisted on tagging along as well. Again, very insistent. What could I do?_

_Sorry._

_Goodbye._

_(Flash Ducky says to say 'Qwak'.)  
_

_Your past-tense apprentice,_

_Wally._

* * *

a/n: Yakety Yak was recorded By: The Coasters; DC owns the Justice League universe and all therein (and the omnipotence has gone to their heads and made them senile...I can't believe they made Jessie the JLA speedster and not Barry OR Wally! Must have a death wish for that team book. The animated series it ain't.)


	12. The MassAcre

**a/n:** Ah. Yes. I cast Wally in a less than stellar light last chapter. Now to make amends. Or a close facsimile.

Also, I've developed an enthusiasm for Flash Ducky...which feels kind of hypocritical. I know he's borderline oc despite being inanimate and if you ever read my profiles you know I _loathe_ oc's, but the little silicon dude has waddled...eh...floated into my heart. I just get a giggle over that thing being Comedic!DCAU Wally's sidekick. DC seriously needs to start manufacturing League rubber duckys.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of value. I'd claim the coffee shop name, but they might sue me over that too.

**IMPORTANT: CHAPTER 7 GOT ERASED AND SUPPLANTED BY A DUPLICATION OF 8.** If you got lost at events in 9, 10, and 11 that is why. It's been fixed.

* * *

Kinetics 12: The Massacre

.

The paper printout crinkled a bit in Batman's fist as he clutched it, unhappy with it's growing length. Worse than the sheer number of names was what they consisted of. Also...

Oracle was a godsend when it came to computerized data investigation, but surely...

"So...this was the best you could come up with?" He didn't look impressed; didn't even attempt to do so. It wasn't that most of the names on the paper weren't _likely_; actually, it was pretty much an even call on which might prove correct given West's less than sophisticated nature. Just the same, that top one? Surely that was a bit far-fetched?

The digital image of Oracle somehow managed to look a bit put out. "He's the fastest man alive. Even if I could accurately predict where he might be hiding at this very minute, the next second he could be in the next hemisphere."

_Well, she did have a point._

Both corners of the Dark Knight's mouth tightened a bit more. He'd hoped to get this over with quickly before any of the League caught wind of what had happened at the mansion and started breathing up the back of his cowl. Stewart and Hol would certainly make nuisances of themselves. Superman, especially, would be sure to make himself at home at Bruce's doorstep -colorful cape as aflutter as its owner over Bruce's having mistreated their increasingly underfoot mascot. Never mind that so-called good-luck charm had been getting into loads of hot water of late. No, that supposedly undeniable fact would be gone like yesterday's refuse. Little Red Running Flash would become the poor, abused victim of The Big, Bad Bat and it would suddenly be 'open season' on Bruce in the eyes of his compatriots.

"Fine."

"I put them in order of descending 'most promising' avenues given his profile," Oracle continued, choosing to ignore his surly attitude. (From what she'd seen via a quick scan of the gossip column early drafts, the charity gala had not gone down very well. "Disturbing", "unfortunate," and "memorable" were not words you wanted to see on discussions over a high-society gig. Most definitely not when used in the same sentence.) "However, again...he's not only the fastest, but-"

"Also the most unpredictable of the non-incarcerated, partially-insane portions of humanity. Yes. I am aware."

_Gods, was he aware._

"I bet you are." Oracle's voice held a touch of amusement. Bruce might be too much of a tightwad when it came to personal information release, but Nightwing generally let 'inconsequential' things slip here and there. As such both Bat Kids had long ago figured out that the main reason Bruce never felt comfortable around Flash was that Wally's responses weren't easy to anticipate during 'wild card' situations. (Sure, he'd usually do A if the situation called for B, or C if B, but if it was a pure _W-class_ event Flash might well react with some number that resembled a pi equation being flipped off it's platter.) "Still, the first one is the most likely considering everything you and certain parties have told me. Plus...as I've noted...one of your old 'acquaintances' has been said to be seen in the vicinity. Given random chance vs Flash, I'd go for that one option."

"Agreed." It would be just like Flash to garner some evil doer's attention without even trying to. Heaven help those with less than Superman's stamina when Flash aimed for people's attention on purpose.

Oracle paused, debating with herself whether she would be better off leaving well enough alone. Yet, Dick...Dick was worried for the speedster. It was obvious even in just the acrobat's voice that he feared for West's safety seeing as the man was very likely in a very fragile mental state. There was no way Wally would have left the manor like he did unless he had some grand idea to fix matters planted in his head. That was the scary thing...it usually was only was a '_good_' reason from Wally's p.o.v. "I don't understand why you won't let Nightwing go undercover on this. He's-"

"Otherwise occupied," Batman curtly ended their communique. Bruce removed thoughtfully removed his cowl in order to pinch the bridge of his nose. In truth, he had yet to check up on Dick. Probably off pouting in Blüdhaven. Yes, Richard would likely go after the MIA Flash even after what happened...if he knew. Batman wasn't too anxious to tell him. Nor was he keen on letting Alfred near either of his protégés until Pennyworth swore on a stack of The Queen's biographies that he'd keep any Young Batman stories to himself. Unfortunately, Tim...

"Hey, Oracle, Bruce..." Tim hopped in and snatched the list out of his mentor's hands, "Looking for Wally? I'm betting he's..." The Boy Wonder's eyes bugged out a little as they roved down the paper. He whistled. "Man, this is one long list. Looks like every fast food place and amusement park on the planet is on this thing." This earned Babs a thumbs up of approval. "Oracle, you sure knows your stuff."

...Tim was the current model of Robin and could be just as pigheaded at times as Richard ever was. Bruce let the image of a swine-headed song birds exit right out of his mind. Flights of fancy were not germane to the situation at hand.

Naturally, now he couldn't get the image out of his head.

_Even when he wasn't around, Wally was corrupting his thought processes._

"Thank you, Robin." Oracle smiled. "Call me if you need anything more." Oracle signed off.

Alfred was the second to make a silent appearance, bearing a sliver tray with two covered dishes. "An unduly late-hour snack, sirs? Would you care for a sandwich, Master Timothy. I even trimmed off the crust...just the way you like it."

"Thanks, Alfred." Grabbing a sandwich, a beaming Tim tapped the upper most name on Oracle's list. "So I'm thinking our best shot will be this one: The MASS*ACRE: 'A day of devotion held on the sacred acreage of God's Country'. It seems pretty obscure, while the prize is of a nice size...not so small it's not worth the risk of exposure...not so big it would attract undue attention to the winner."

Bruce made to reach for the silver tray, only to have Alfred nimbly maneuver the food out of his reach. So Alfred was still angry at him? He sighed and, instead, snatched back Oracle's list. The detective had also figured Wally would join a race. Flash couldn't resist racing _something_ when he was wallowing in self pity. That or stuffing his face. But West was broke and hadn't been seen at the Watchtower. Besides, its cafeteria was still fully stocked so Flash hadn't gone there. "There are other ones he could participate in."

"Prize money is $25,000," Alfred sniffed. "Nothing to you, but to someone like Wallace, that's is a hefty enough sum."

"Enough for a month's worth of food with that metabolism of his," Tim put in, giving Bruce the evil eye.

"And the man did miss his last regular meal," Alfred chimed in with an unhappy stare at his grown-up ward.

Bruce glared right back. "Exactly. He's a meta. For the sake of fairness, he shouldn't be allowed to take part in any race." Unnecessary public appearances were dangerous. Ones done for the purpose of monetary gain were immoral as well. 'Barry would have never stooped so low.'

"Sir, with all due respect you are being unfair. Mr. Allen was already a matured man with an adequate income when he became metabolically enriched while Mr. West was a child when it happened to him. He needed more nutrients even before gaining his speed. Undoubtedly this is why he needs to eat more now."

"That doesn't change the fact that these races are meant for normal humans."

"Are you kidding?" Tim scowled at Bruce's implication that Wally would use nefarious means to win a competition. "Look, Bruce, its not like he can really cheat on that one even if he wanted to. Flash stands as much a chance of winning or losing as any of them." The Boy Wonder crossed his arms. "You're just mad because he's making you feel guilty about intimidating him to the point of running away. Not seeing this objectively is making you miss things."

Blue eyes fixed on Tim, pinning him like daggers. _'How dare he?'_

"I am _not_ feeling guilty."

"No? You'd forbid Nightwing or me to go search for him even though we're less likely to scare the pants off of him by simply breathing and send him skittering off again. On the other hand, you don't want to go yourself because you don't have a clue on what to say to him that won't come off sounding like The Goddamned Batman Disapproves On Principle. For God's sake, Bruce, let me or Dick handle this."

"Like you two handled him before?"

"C'mon, you never had a project go wrong?"

"_I_ don't leap in where angels fear to tread."

Another round of glares.

"Master Timothy," Alfred interrupted them, "Master Bruce has issues with people who can feel happiness as well as self justification in the simple act of helping another. You are, as they say, beating a dead bat."

"Horse," Bruce corrected. Alfred just gave him a pointed look.

Here he'd been worried about Superman and Green Lantern wanting to nail his cowl ears to the cave wall? "Et tu, Alfred?" Bruce narrowed his eyes at them. "I am _not_ the villain here. West is the one who owes me an apology. He's the one who cowardly slunk away from his responsibilities to you."

"A fact that makes him _my_ problem, Master Wayne," Alfred reminded him.

"He damaged the manor."

"And fixed it as well." Tim smirked. "Looks better than ever."

"He abandoned his duties to the League."

"Wallace was on vacation...sanctioned by Martian Manhunter...and, I might add, by you, sir,as I believe you never actually got around to ending his banishment."

"I didn't?"

Alfred raised both his right eyebrow and the stakes with a firm "No." (Of course, he neglected to mention that J'onn had been responsible for Bruce's amnesia in that regard.)

"Well..." Bruce sputtered in his chagrin, determined to find something to remain legitimately peeved over. Thankfully, a light bulb went off. Not exactly halogen, but... "_He did_ steal property from the manor."

Tim blinked at him. "Oh my god. You're all irate because he took a bath toy?" He watched his mentor grind his teeth before Bruce sneered:

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the principle of the thing."

"Sure."

.

Quietly, Alfred watched the two. Bruce was not going to back down easily. Neither was Tim.

Drake made another appeal to his mentor. "Look, just find and talk with him. Who knows, maybe he doesn't want to impress you anymore and you're off the hook."

_'Oh dear.' Wrong tactic, Master Timothy.'_

Bruce's glare deepened toward the abyss. "I was never _on_ said hook."

"He looks up to you."

"A perfect arrangement seeing as I look down on him."

"That's rather mean-spirited." Tim dared to point out despite the fact that miniature black holes had somehow replaced Bruce's pupils.

"I. Don't. Care."

Mexican standoff.

Unfortunately for Bruce he'd overlooked the fact that Alfred wasn't even remotely Hispanic...

"You know, Master Timothy," the butler amiably broke in, "I seem to recall a situation such as this one many years back When Master Wayne senior and a very young Master Bruce had a disagreement concerning..."

_...no, Alfred was a British manservant with a memory that surpassed Bruce's._

_Damn-it.  
_

"Okay, I'll go."

With utter impassivity, Alfred offered Bruce the covered server. "Naturally. Your humble pie, sir?"

With a huff, Bruce replaced his cowl over his head and stormed out towards his Batmobile.

Tim glanced up at Alfred. "Just remember...I'm the innocent kid in all this."

"You wish, Master Timothy. Batman isn't the only one who keeps files on others."

Tim blinked, then let a sly grin spread over his features.

"Speaking of which...what's all this about Kid Batman stories?"

* * *

It was cold and windy. Didn't matter. Neither did the hour. The watcher was used to such hardships. There was discomfort; however this was without needing to think about it more than as a cerebral note towards the fact.

What _was_ of importance was the red-head down below. Leather-clad hands adjusted the viewer controls. The watcher need only watch and wait for an opportune moment to strike.

* * *

It was too early an hour of the morning to be outside. A bit nippy what with it being winter and all; breezy too, but the dawn sky remained pretty clear and was showing off an array of orange and blue. Picturesque vistas didn't change the fact that it was currently that godforsaken time slot that fell between dark of night and noon. Still, a hero seldom had a choice in such matters when it came to answering challenges. Fate didn't believe in allowing super humans to hit the Snooze button on Life; not when Providence knew dang well that coffee stands was available on every street corner so a drowsy speedster didn't even have the excuse of being too tired to run down to Columbia and pick up some fresh caffeine-laden beans for a Flash-style reboot.

Stupid Providence.

Stupider _Star Fawns_ franchises.

Wally ran his fingers through his wind-blown hair, paced around a bit, scrubbed at his sleep-deprived face, paced around some more. Finally, he felt ready to face the challenge.

"All right, Flash Ducky. There's a lot riding on this race, so...yeah. Performance jitters are a possibility here. I'll admit I'm kind'a nervous about signing the entry form. Not sure Bruce would approve. Heck, I'm pretty sure he'd be _mighty_ disapproving, but...heroes have gotta do what heroes have gotta do."

The course looked pretty easy. Nice flat surface, its wide expanse providing lots of room once they broke out from the other racers.

Wally looked about, eying the eerie stillness of the waiting competition with a critical eye. They were a mean looking bunch: smarmy leers adorned mugs sporting dark wind-resistant goggles...no doubt hiding shifty eyes. Professional types. Quiet too. Like sharks waiting for their prey.

_Brave heart..brave heart. They could do this. Piece of cake._

"The competition for the fastest is looking pretty stiff. But even so, I have absolute confidence in the ability of good to prevail at the end. No matter what happens out there, know that I'm always proud of you. Never forget that we are The Flash team. Together we can make this happen."

Blinking back the manly something-decidedly-_not_-tears that kept obscuring his vision, Wally flung Flash Ducky into the water then started gesticulating wildly. "Go, Flash Ducky! Go! Remember our motto! Speed is life!"

Several of the other participants glanced between the gently rocking rubber duck in the kiddie pool before warily edged away from him. Wally defensively glared at their departing backs, annoyed for the sake of his stationary sidekick. "What? So he's a little new at this. It's only performance jitters. Everyone has them before their first race. Just needs some more practice." They walked away faster, a peeved Wally yelling after them "Cut him some slack!"

_Jerks._

_

* * *

_

That's right, FD! Float! Keep on floating! You are The Duck! A natural! Float like a wood chip! Float! Float!" Beaming, Wally scooped up his ducky and started rubbing him down with a paper napkin he'd nabbed from a hot dog stand. "That's the way. Sure, you're just a rookie now, but just you wait, [insert a Rocky Balboa's coach pep talk here.]"

**"Contestants, please make your way to the check point for registering into your chosen event. The races officially commence in one half hour."**

Hurriedly picking up Flash Ducky, Wally jogged toward the sign-up stand under the MASS*ACRE banner to await his turn in line, singing his version of a Bootcamp Cadence (with some squeaky accompaniment by Flash Ducky's internal noise maker):

"We're the Flash Team; fastest 'round!  
Dum dum da-dum!  
Because our bods are aero sound!  
Dum dum da-dum!  
Come there swirl or rapids foam,  
Dum dum da-dum!  
The winner's place we'll make our own!

Dum dum da-dum!

Quack out (qwak! qwak!)  
Quack in (qwak! qwak-qw-qwaak!)

You think I boast but cannot prove?  
Just wait until you see us move!  
No need to stand on fate or luck,  
'Cause Flash Team's got the swiftest duck!"

Quack out (qwak-quak!)

Quack-"

Some young children in the line running parallel to his giggled at his boastful song and dance. Like the adults around them, they were wearing what Wally had decided upon arriving must be the church group's event uniform as everyone was garbed with the same earthy pattern.

"Whoa! Look, FD, our fan club has already started." The boisterous red-head gave Flash Ducky a gentle squeeze. (Qwak!) "Well, sure we will. Always pays to meet the fans."

Wally happily knelt down to let the kids pet Flash Ducky (whom they all agreed -what with his red and gold paint job and ebony cape- was by far truly the flashiest duck in the competition. Attention on the tykes, Wally let the line move along with him in tow, solemnly explaining all the while that the cape belonged to Flash Ducky's way cool-like sponsor who, unfortunately, couldn't come to watch the race, but would they root for Flash Ducky in his stead because Flash Ducky thrived on a show of support? They promised they would with lots of nods and smiles. Wally thanked them with the most sincere expression in his eyes before the stand attendant coughed and held out a registration sheet and pen. Grabbing the empty form, the more animate half of The Flash Team hurriedly filled it out..then handed it back with a grin: he'd signed it _Wallace East_ with the image of a duck's foot and lightning bolt next to his signature.

"You church people sure do raise some nice kids. Must be all the Sunday School lessons."

The unamused attendant pointed him to where his event's starting point was and where he was to pick up his racing gear.

So far so good.

* * *

Watching the scene from the anonymity of the rooftops, a man shook his head, yet couldn't help but chuckle. At least his friend seemed to be in chipper spirits despite what had transpired at Gotham. No matter what happened, Wally's psyche always seemed to eventually float above his troubles. How appropriate, then, his choice in a companion.

Even so, a rubber duck wasn't going to be much of a help in watching his back...which was where another type of slick bird came in anyway.

Feeling a presence behind him, Nightwing instantly whirled, weapons at the ready. Batman casually moved one of them aside.

"Fair reflexes...poor hearing," was his deadpanned assessment of Grayson's performance.

"Fair compliment, poor manners." Dick returned in like manner, putting up his escrima fighting sticks. "Before you start, I have a perfect right to be here."

"Why _are_ you here?"

"Making sure he's okay. I heard this place can get pretty rough." Dick nodded toward the event grounds. "The kiddie race is standard stuff, but the main event? Let's just say a lot of the racers don't survive the course." His eyebrows scrunched together under his mask. "Why are _you_ here?" He glanced at the cloudless horizons. "Not exactly your kind of scene or work shift."

Batman grimaced at the bright sky. "Apprehending a violator of the law."

"Heh...neither sunbeam nor clear skies, nor bright of day shall stay the justice of the Dark Kni-" His old comrade gaped at him. "Hold the Batphone. What?" The acrobatic vigilante raked his hands through his copious dark hair. "Violator? Wait," the lenses on his domino mask widened "you're seriously going to go down there -as Batman- and -in broad daylight I might mention- to demand Wally hand over _a rubber duck? Seriously?"_

Batman's grimace deepened even further than it had when Tim had broached such a concept. "Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to arrest him. The contraband I'll return to its proper setting afterward."

"Which happens to be your private bath." Nightwing pointed out.

"Not your concern." Batman stepped forward.

An escrima stick barred his path.

"No way. _No way_ am I letting you do that to him."

"You think you can stop me?" the Dark Knight challenged.

"Geez, talk about a cowl that's on too tight. I can't believe your honestly obsessing over a bath toy!" Nightwing felt his exasperation with his sire reach new levels. How did Alfred manage to cope living with the man for so long? "How about this...wait until the race is over. Then I'll go down and talk to him about turning in the duck."

"Not in the game plan."

"Man...and everyone says Flash has issues."

Bruce thought it over. He really did hate being Batman during the daylight hours and fighting with Dick would just prolong that. "If I promise not to maim him, will you stay out of this?"

"Nope."

_That's what happened when you tried to compromise with someone._

"Fine."

"Just don't go in leaping before you look."

"I'll endeavor not to upset any innocent parishioners," he bit out.

"Parishioners?"

"The religious people having their fun."

"Huh?" Nightwing blinked at him. "You think this is a church-sponsored event?"

"It's not? I thought by the name that it was affiliated with the Catholic Church? Isn't it the Mass*Acre?"

Nightwing pointed at the main banner. "Batman, see that dark spot between the words?"

"Yes."

"That isn't representing some hyphen...it's a 12-gauge shotgun blast."

"Then..."

He looked down at the people milling around the expansive river bank park grounds. Everyone but one conspicuous red-head in a scarlet pullover and denim jeans was wearing camouflage.

_'Oh fuck._'

* * *

**"Yes, sir, ladies and gents it's a beautiful day out here,****" sang out the cheerful event announcer. "As a reminder to those with the memory of kumquats, in Event B the kiddies are advised to stay out of the pond and to play fair. Remember, it's only a game until someone gets hurt."**

The red head smiled and nodded in agreement, (good sportsmanship was the hallmark of civility.) He felt a nudge from his neighbor and looked to his right.

"Hey, moron...your gear."

Wally accepted the little motorized rubber-ducky sized board with it's miniature harness and multi-button remote control from a tattoo-covered man.

Aw...how cute! The board came with a little harness and everything!

He looked around to offer the other contestants a smile of enthusiasm...and stared bemusedly at the others 'duck wranglers' who were already strapping their bath toys to similar devices.

Some of them were adding what looked like decidedly non-regulation bath fun gear...and...and...um...

War paint and dart guns? Wasn't that being a touch overly dramatic for a simple rubber ducky race?

Suddenly worried, the speedster cast his eyes up...and felt his jaw drop as the voice from the overhead speakers suddenly took a malicious turn.

.

**"Now...on the other side of the park the only rules in Event A are..._TO STAY AFLOAT LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE YOUR COMPETITOR KISS HIS TAIL FEATHERS GOODBYE! _As long-time participants at ****The Militia Aficionado Society's Silicon Aquatic Combat Race Extravaganza**** know, rules are for wussies and those in the kiddie 'B' event over at The Beginner's Waddling Pond Race! This here is The 'A' EVENT! That's 'A' as in Agony! 'A' as in Be A-fraid for you 'lil ducky's life! This is the main DUCK DISH where any SITTING DUCKS DIE! That's right, my fellow camouflaged comrades...The next few minutes will decide who gets the MAJOR MOO-_lah_ MONEY and who ends up with chunk-style DUCK SOUP! Good luck out there...suckers! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!**

**Get those ducks in a row before the whistle does blow!"**

**.  
**

There was no peaceful, placidly still pond in sight festooned with gaily colored plastic cones to mark off the race path.

What _was_ there was a river course devised by Mad Max:

Obstacle mines, radio-controlled gunboats, and what looked like a tin Godzilla with aluminum jaws and claws worthy of Wolverine standing in the middle of the 'track'.

It roared and spouted a stream of fire.

"Flash Ducky...I don't think we're enrolled in The Waddler's Duck Pond Race anymore."


	13. Nobody Insults Flash Ducky

**a/n: It's short, yes, I know that. I've not been able to write much of late plus I have zippo combat experience. I don't even watch The History Channel as all those big noises scare Mr. Pookums, my plushie mountain goat. Was either this or nothing more for several weeks.**

**Okay, kidding about Mr. Pookums. Mr. Pookums kicks more ass than I do. ;P**

**Trying to figure out how to work Batman and Nightwing into the fray. I'm not terribly familiar with their weaponry assortment other than batarangs and rebreathers...knockout gas...chunk of kryptonite. What else do those two carry on them? Especially Batman and his Time Lord utility belt with the unlimited storage capacity.  
**

* * *

Kinetics 13: Nobody Insults Flash Ducky

.

"Yeah...It's a paramilitary organization," Nightwing frowned as he looked at his old mentor. "I thought you knew."

"No."

"_You_ didn't know?" Nightwing didn't even try to hide his incredulity at that sepulchral admission. Not only was Bruce not aware of something...the Dark Knight actually let the sound of dismay color his voice? He wanted to glance into the sky and ask if pigs were flying or something, but figured that wouldn't go over very well.

"I know _now_." The returned sour quality to Batman's reply was like so much pure acid.

_Okay, that was better._

_Or not so much better as it was normal.  
_

"Well, I guess if you could be mistaken, anybody could." Nightwing diplomatically allowed (seeing as the last thing he wanted was more verbal Bat Vitriol to be spat in his direction.)

Both froze for what seemed like whole seconds of horrified realization. There was a simultaneous scrambling for binoculars, hurried focusing; Nightwing nearly dropping his macros. Batman grimaced as if in pain. Fortunately, Dick beat him to voicing their first thought:

"Holy guano avalanche! He's gotten into the wrong race!"

It was all Bruce could do not to face-palm. Instead, he looked again through his macros. West was eying his nearest competitor and...opening his mouth.

This couldn't be good. He'd have to do something.

_'Purely for the sake of my The Justice League rubber duck collection.'_

* * *

West was eying his nearest competitor: a bald-headed man who smelled of onions and garlic. "So..." the speedster hesitantly asked, "does this mean that tube on your ducky's harness _isn't_ a cup holder?" (Caught in the midst of a group of war mongers, Wally figured the best life insurance policy was to make nice and sweet talk them about their loved ones. Every doting father could not but help turn a bit mushy when waxing on about their passions be they chromosome kin or plastic bath toys. Surely this would make them less trigger happy?

"Cup holder?" Mr. Garlic Bread on Rye breathed the fumes of his latest repast into Wally's face. "_Cup holder?_ Only a weenie unfit for anything but plastic pop guns wouldn't recognize that this here bad boy's the Acme UltraBlast-O-Matic offensive aerial missile launcher!" The man squinted in disdain at Flash Ducky. "So what do you have for your offensive array?"

"Offensive array?" Well, F.D. did have one pretty sturdy beak; however, Wally got the feeling that this wasn't what Mr. GBoR was talking about.

"Is this a joke? How you think your going to capture any kill points without the latest weaponry? Hey, you some kind of pacifist namby-pamby dip wad?"

"Um...let me get back to you on that."

Wally's next act was to ever so nervously edge away._ The only thing he was keen to capture now was the attendant's notice_. "Excuse me? Sir? I think I may have accidentally signed for the wrong event? Can you point me in the direction of the Waddling Pond Race?"

"Hey, guys," one of the meaner looking rubber duck wranglers guffawed. (Wally immediately decided to call him The Illustrated Ad Man seeing as his variety of body art all depicted the gruesome fates of former rubber duckies along with one prominent blank spot that simply stated: _"Picture Your Duck Here."_) "Looks like we got us a _plucked chicken_ in our midst instead of a duck!" A clamor of catcalls and mock chicken-like noises rose up at this, all aimed at the blushing Wally and stoically silent Flash Ducky. "What'sa matter, ya weenie...your little duckie-wuckie can't handle a man's race?" He jabbed a metal-tipped finger at what was the only weaponless duck in the group. Wally hastily snatched F.D. back out of puncture range.

"Well, actually..."

At this point the event attendant kindly stepped in.

"Get your gosh-be-damned duck in the water, boy, or go waddle out of the way and let the _real_ mallard wranglers show you what it's like to have premium octane testosterone pumping in their veins!" The men contestants whooped in assent. (Several women contestants gave their neighbor chauvinistic commentators the finger with a twist of their spike-leather covered wrists; still, the overall consensus was that Wally was not a man and his under-endowed duckling should apply at Colonel Flounders House of Chicken Wings for a suitable vocation in life.)

Normally guileless eyes slitted to jade stones of seething paternal indignation.

You could disparage the Flash.

You could insult Wally West.

You could even wax derogatory about Colonel Flounders House of Chicken Wings even on their All-You-Can-Eat-Every-First-Tuesday-Of-The-Month days.

But -darn it!- _nobody_ was going to deride Flash Ducky's mallardliness!

How dare they question Team Flash Ducky's worth! F.D. was the _bestest_, the _bravestest_, the _fastestest_, and most _floatiest_ rubber duck in the gosh darn world of bath toys!

"You wanna see what we can do? You wanna see what we can do? Just hold on to your tattoos and spiked bangles, G.I. Jokes," Wally snarled at them while making sure the little batcape was tied on snug about F.D.'s neck, "because Flash Ducky's molded plastic tail feather are going to be the only thing your own bath buddies see before they sink from F.D.'s wake...so you can all just kiss my duck's ass!"

Unfortunately, the race gun had gone off during his little impassioned speech and all the other ducks were already floating off into destiny.

"Crap," our hero muttered as he hurriedly placed Flash Ducky into the water with a last gentle pat on the back. "Don't worry, F.D. Just go out there and do your best. Daddy won't let anything happen to you."

_'Especially since your GrandBatty would undoubtedly kill me if I did.'_


End file.
